


This Year's for Me and You

by sweetfire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Christmas, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Keith is 20, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Shiro is the ambassador of Christmas, Virgin Keith (Voltron), and a large helping of holiday cheer, and they're not in the desert, basically a pre-kerb AU, because i wanted snow, but with a lot of changes to canon, it's his calling, love and tendernesss, mistletoe is involved, oh boy will there be pining, only in Ch. 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetfire/pseuds/sweetfire
Summary: When Shiro learns, to his horror, that Keith has been spending his Christmases alone at the Garrison, he sets out to give him the perfect one in the form of 12 days of Christmas, each with a different holiday activity. Because Keith’s his friend, and he cares about him, and definitely not because he’s hopelessly in love with him, no matter what Matt says.In other words, Shiro will do anything to make Keith happy, Keith thinks Shiro hung the moon, and it takes the most wonderful season of all to show them that they’re big dumb fools.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 127
Kudos: 171





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody tell me why I decided to make my first Sheith fic and the first thing I’ve written in months something that requires I post a chapter every day for 12 days. There will be 13 chapters, and starting Monday one will be posted every day until Christmas! (the 12 days of Christmas technically start on Christmas and go after, but we're ignoring that). Title from Fairytale of New York by The Pogues. 
> 
> A note on setting: I wrote this as pre-Kerberos for the pining but I threw canon out the window enough that it could really also be read as an AU if you want. Keith’s like at least 20 because who the fuck puts teenagers in military space training programs?? Voltron canon, please explain. And I moved the Garrison to somewhere with forests and snow because Christmas, fuck it. And Shiro hasn’t been assigned to the Kerberos mission yet because that would hurt and this is happy. Oh and there’s no Adam. Okay, I think those are all the disclaimers. 
> 
> *The only explicit scene is in Chapter 13, and can totally be skipped over with no harm to the plot
> 
> Happy reading!

The air smells like Christmas. Warm spice and evergreen and the cold freshness of winter.

Okay, maybe it doesn’t exactly smell like that in the Garrison gym, but hey, Shiro can dream. It’s the season of miracles.

It’s Shiro’s _favorite_ season, too, by far. He’s always had a thing for Christmas, and instead of the childlike joy fading as he got older, he’s only dug his heels in and held steadfastly on to his love of all things merry and bright.

That’s why he’s insisted on wearing this moderately ridiculous, cherry-red, be-santa’d tank top to work out today, basking in the weird looks he gets from all the Garrison grinches. Nothing can stop his Christmas cheer.

As he finishes up his reps on the lat pulldown machine, he catches sight of the grumpiest grinch of them all, who also happens to make his chest fill with helium balloons whenever he sees him.

“Keith!” he calls out to him, grinning ear-to-ear. The grin only grows wider when Keith searches for him, turning to follow his voice, and immediately raises one eyebrow in an incredulous arch all the way up under his bangs when he takes in Shiro’s outfit.

Shiro snorts to himself, unsurprised by the reaction. He learned early on in their friendship that Keith is not at all a fan of Christmas. Around this time of year, he merely tolerates Shiro’s excitement, accompanied by a good sprinkling of grumbling and eye rolling to cope with it. It’s unthinkable, but as far as Shiro’s concerned, it’s Keith’s only flaw, so he lets it pass.

Keith approaches with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, his dark grey ensemble in sharp contrast with Shiro’s outfit of choice. An outsider might joke that it’s a good representation of their personalities, but Shiro knows better. Keith is anything but grey.

“Hey,” Keith greets, more subdued than he usually is with Shiro, a little hint of a crease between his eyebrows. The part of Shiro’s brain that is closely attuned to all the nuances of Keith’s moods, a skill he’s honed over the past two years, is instantly alert – something’s bothering him.

Shiro knows better than to just directly ask what’s wrong – and certainly not in the middle of the Garrison gym – but something tightens and twists a little bit in his heart just knowing that Keith is sad about something and he can’t immediately fix it.

Instead of asking, he smiles up at him, head tilted. “Wanna spar?” he asks.

Keith’s face lifts a bit, brightening as he considers it. Then, he cracks a small smile, and nods.

Keith’s been one of Shiro’s best friends for just over two years, ever since he successfully coaxed him into his life. By now, he prides himself in being a self-proclaimed Keith expert. Figuring Keith out is like a second job to him at this point, and he’s more than happy to serve. Keith just needs…a special touch. And though he keeps it buried, shallowly, under the surface, Shiro knows he would do anything in his power to give Keith what he needs.

Sparring is a great method of stress relief, a great way of getting things out. They both use it that way, a lot of the time.

Keith’s still clearly in his head as he wraps his hands and wrists (He went without wraps when they did this once – too frustrated and on edge to take the time for it, and Shiro hadn’t wanted to push him – and it ended with Keith fracturing a metacarpal and hiding it from him for days, so it’s a rule between them now, at Shiro’s insistence).

He’s still got that tiny frown, eyes not quite focusing on what’s in front of him. It makes Shiro itch to smooth out the crease in his brow with his thumb, take his face in his hands and get him to meet his eyes. But he knows that wouldn’t go over too well – in more ways than one.

Before they begin, Keith pauses to pull off his hoodie, leaving him in the garrison-issued rash guard that’s so tight it’s practically painted on. Shiro drags his eyes away, suddenly very interested in a stain on the ceiling.

“Okay, ready.”

When Shiro looks back, Keith’s already in fighting stance, eyes sharp and ready. It’s a good sign that he’s locked in. This’ll help. He rolls his shoulders, and they start to circle each other.

“So how’re you feeling about your exams?” Shiro asks after Keith gets a couple particularly good swipes at him that he barely blocks. “Want to study together this week?”

They’re circling each other and catching their breaths, now, ready to collide again, and Keith scoffs, brushing off the suggestion that he might be worried about his grades. 

“Nah, exams are gonna be a breeze. Classes are a joke this semester.”

So it’s not that, then. Cross that off the list. Shiro feels a swell of pride, knowing how smart Keith is – he really doesn’t need to worry about exams, barely needs to study, and knocks all of his training and simulations out of the park, to beat. Keith takes the moment of distraction to sweep a leg behind Shiro’s knee and drop him to the mat decisively. He’s proud of that, too.

It’s two weeks until Christmas, now, and Shiro’s excitement is growing, though tempered, admittedly, by the knowledge that he won’t be spending the holiday at home this year. Usually, he goes home to celebrate with his aunts and cousins, and the family time and treasured traditions are a big part of why Shiro is so fond of the holiday. This year, though, it’s Shiro’s turn out of a rotating cohort of junior officers to stay on base over the break and help perform what duties need to still be carried out while most of the Garrison is gone. It sucks, but he knew it’d have to happen sometime. Plus, nothing’s going to stop him from having a very merry Christmas right here. It helps that Matt’s been chosen for this round, too, so he’ll have someone to bother. He knows his best friend doesn’t expect any less. He’s used to being bothered by Shiro.

Which may be why, currently, Matt is glaring daggers at him across the cafeteria table, made a bit less intimidating by the way it’s interrupted by him stuffing chicken nuggets in his face. He shoots Matt a _“what?”_ look in return, and the ensuing complete failure to communicate with their eyes leaves him still confused as to what the problem is.

His attention is pulled away by Keith tapping on his shoulder and asking if he’s going to finish his dessert. He could swear he’s making his eyes all big and beautiful on purpose, but it’s not like he needs to butter Shiro up – he slides the plate of bread pudding over easily, smiling to himself at the way Keith greedily digs his spoon into it. That boy has a sweet tooth.

Keith’s still been off kilter since the other day, when Shiro failed to find anything of substance out during their sparring, but at least succeeded in tiring Keith out and distracting him from whatever it was for a while. He’s been quieter than usual at lunch today, too; it’s just the three of them, and he’s gotten used to Matt enough that he’s usually less curled into himself than this. Shiro wishes he knew why.

Matt kicks his shin under the table. When all he gets is an offended look in response, he rolls his eyes and turns to Keith with a huff, waving his fork around in the air dramatically as he talks.

“So Keith, what are your plans over Christmas?”

Keith stiffens at the question, not meeting Matt’s eyes.

_Oh._

He shrugs, shoulders staying hunched up near his ears after, and stares down at what’s left of Shiro’s bread pudding with a scowl.

“Nothing. Just hanging around here. Probably sleeping a lot, watching Netflix.”

Shiro turns to him, frowning. That’s not right. Keith’s going to be here? Alone? Not celebrating? Keith can’t spend the happiest time of the year holed up in his room...

Catching Shiro’s look, Keith explains, trying to soothe his worries. “It’s fine, really. It’s what I do every year. I don’t have anywhere to go home to, so…Anyway, it’s not like I really _do_ the whole Christmas thing.”

No. Oh no. _Oh no no no._

Shiro must be mishearing. Keith’s spent _every_ Christmas they’ve been at the Garrison this way; all alone in an empty dorm room, because he doesn’t have any family to go home to? _Fuck._ How did Shiro never realize this? No wonder Keith doesn't like Christmas. No wonder he’s been sad. His heart breaks, just a little, like it does every time Keith’s in pain. Shit. He could kick himself.

From the looks of it, Matt could, too. He subtly moves his shins out of kicking radius. Matt’s looking at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the universe, and appears to stop just short of literally facepalming before he turns back to Keith and says, a little too cheerily, “You know, Shiro and I will be staying here this Christmas, too.”

Okay, now Shiro really is going to kick himself. _Obviously_.

Keith looks to him, surprised, for confirmation.

Shiro nods, opens his mouth to explain, but first his breath is caught for a moment at the way the news has completely transformed Keith’s expression, lifting his whole face into something almost happy.

“Yeah,” Shiro rushes to explain, to do whatever he can to keep that look on Keith’s face, “we both got picked to be posted here this round, so I’m staying too.”

Keith blinks a couple of times, owlish, then gives a small, “Oh.”

He takes his next bite of bread pudding much more slowly than Keith ever does, almost like he’s mulling his thoughts over at the same pace he’s chewing. They move to another topic, Shiro still too bowled over by the revelation to successfully navigate the rest of that conversation, but the little frown Keith’s been carrying around for the past few days doesn’t show back up for the rest of lunch, and that, at least, lets Shiro breath a partial sigh of relief.

The relief doesn’t last long.

That night, after classes and meetings are through, he bursts into Matt’s room sans-knock, spiraling.

“Oh my god, Matt.”

“Hello to you too. You know, if you keep doing that, one of these days you’re gonna burst in on something you don’t wanna see.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. But _Matt_.”

Matt rolls his eyes, and it’s a wonder they haven’t gotten stuck that way yet after three years of being Shiro’s best friend. Matt tells him so, frequently.

“Alright, alright. Let Keith Hour commence.” He sighs and leans back in his desk chair, crossing his arms and fixing Shiro with A Look.

Matt’s always weird about him and Keith. Probably because of the one time, about a year ago, when Shiro made the grievous error of getting too drunk on peppermint schnapps in Matt’s dorm room and admitted a few things about Keith that were, well…suspicious. Shiro has refused to talk about it in the light of day, but that doesn’t stop Matt from talking about it. And teasing, and giving him knowing looks over Keith’s shoulder, and all sorts of annoying behavior. Matt’s not the only one who has to put up with a lot.

“I can’t believe Keith’s been spending Christmas alone,” Shiro groans, pacing a small circle in Matt’s cramped bedroom and running his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe I didn’t know. How didn’t I know? I’m a terrible friend.”

“Yeah man, how _didn’t_ you know?” Matt asks, unhelpfully.

When Shiro stops pacing and gives him a betrayed look, he just shrugs.

“You know literally everything about Keith. Well—” he holds up a finger as Shiro’s about to interrupt to argue, “way, waaayyy more than anyone else on planet earth knows.”

Shiro can’t argue with that.

“ _I_ knew Keith was spending breaks here,” Matt throws out, casually. “Maybe you’ve just been too blinded by l—”

“Nope! Shut up!”

Matt snickers, but keeps his mouth shut.

“I need to fix this,” Shiro says, resuming his pacing.

“Uh, you’re pretty great and all, but I don’t know how you’re going to fix a life spent in the foster system and not having a family?”

_That_ earns Shiro’s very best glare. He’s not very good at glaring.

“No, I mean, _this_. I can fix _this_.”

Shiro knows, of course, that Keith has had a hard life. That he’s spent much of it alone, passed around, unloved. The fact hurts so much that Shiro just can’t think about it all that often, though it’s always in the back of his mind when interacting with Keith, when trying to help him grow and heal. But there are always practical implications of Keith’s background that Shiro forgets, or that just don’t occur to him. The fact that he’s missed this one feels like he’s failed Keith. And maybe that’s not fair, but even so, the image of Keith alone in his dark room, curled up under a blanket with his face lit only by his computer screen on Christmas night, while Shiro’s basking in the love of his family and the joy of the season, really does make him want to cry.

And this, at least, he can do something about.

“I’m going to give Keith the perfect Christmas.” Shiro declares. Now that he has his goal, the gears start turning. “We’ll spend the break doing all of the holiday things he’s missed out on. Oh, I know! It’ll be like the twelve days of Christmas. Every day will be a different holiday activity! And he’ll have fun, and he won’t be alone this Christmas. I won’t let him be alone.”

It feels like there should be some applause or a sturdy pat on the back to send him on his mission after that, but what he gets is Matt blinking at him skeptically, although he’s pretty sure there’s a hint of affection in there.

“Uh huh,” he says drily. “And tell me again all about how you’re not in l—”

“ _Matt!_ ”


	2. The First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the shenanigans begin!

This is a stupid idea. A really, really, stupid idea.

Still, Keith can’t seem to wipe the grin off his face. It’s starting to make his cheek muscles ache, and the freezing cold doesn’t help. People are giving him weird looks as he hurries across the center of campus towards Shiro’s apartment, squinting against the snowflakes flying into his face.

Clutching his coat closer around him and ducking his head, he powers on. It’d take a lot more than a little weather to keep him away from where he’s going.

When Shiro introduced this ridiculous twelve days of Christmas plan to him, he rolled his eyes at first, as a reflex, and also hopefully to distract from his blush. He tells himself this is one of those _Shiro_ things, those silly cheesy golden-retriever-like Shiro things that always make his throat tighten a little. Christmas is just not Keith’s thing. Christmas very much _is_ Shiro’s thing. If Shiro wants to try and bring him around on the matter or whatever, then fine. He’ll humor him. That’s how he made it seem, anyway. But really, when there’s nobody around to hide from, he can admit to himself that the suggestion made his heart swell, still does. The fact that Shiro cares like this. Takes care of him like this. In his stupid, perfect way.

For fuck’s sake, he’s blushing again. Now all these people really are going to wonder what’s up with him.

He has to remind himself that it doesn’t mean anything. That it’s just Shiro’s way, just who he is. Because he’s a kind, thoughtful, wonderful person, who – by maybe the only stroke of good luck the universe has ever given him – has for some reason decided to focus some of that goodness on Keith. It doesn’t _mean_ anything to Shiro. Even so, it means more to Keith than Shiro could ever understand.

He’s pretty sure his ears are going to fall right off from frostbite by the time he’s standing in front of Shiro’s door, bouncing on his heels in an effort to get his blood moving.

The door swings open to reveal Shiro, looking beautiful as ever, gleaming at him like he’s been waiting for him all day. It’s devastating.

“Keith! Wow, it’s really gotten bad out there, huh? Come on in.”

As Keith enters, he’s immediately wrapped up into a hug, one of those solid, warm, just-tight-enough ones Shiro gives. He may be freezing, but he could melt right here.

“God, you’re cold,” Shiro mutters into his hair, squeezing him that bit tighter, holding on a little longer. Keith just barely holds back his gasp, but he doesn’t notice the way his hands automatically clutch at Shiro’s sweater until it’s too late. They stay locked together for a few more moments, Shiro starting to rub his hands firmly over Keith’s back and arms, trying to warm him.

Luckily, Keith can pass off his shiver as being from the cold.

Shiro’s always been affectionate with him, open with his touch. It hurts almost as much as Keith craves it – it feels so good to be touched, kindly, by someone who cares about him, that it makes his heart ache. But at the same time, he can’t help but wish for more. It’s not like that, he knows – this is just how Shiro is; warm and friendly and good.

When they do break apart, it’s because Keith works his hands between them to press gently back on Shiro’s chest – it feels too good to let himself have anymore, or he may never be able to let go. Besides, he’s sure Shiro’s only still holding him because he feels like he has to, because Keith’s too needy, always asking too much of him.

Before he can make himself too glum, Shiro leads him into his apartment and straight to the kitchen. He’s too excited for it not to spread to Keith a bit, too.

“Okay,” Shiro says, clapping his hands together and looking over the spread on his kitchen island. “This is where we’re gonna do it.”

Keith does a bit of a mental double-take at the phrasing, but manages to keep his reaction to a raising of his eyebrows. Shiro makes a weird choking noise in his throat.

Before Keith can ask if he’s okay, concerned, Shiro slaps a bag of chocolate chips and starts again.

“Christmas cookies! Christmas cookies are one of the main tenets of Christmas. Are you ready for the first step of your Christmas education?”

Keith snorts and rolls his eyes, and with that, they slip easily into their roles.

It’s one thing for Keith to not particularly like Christmas, but Shiro’s unabashed love of the season is something else entirely. It’s completely endearing, the way he gets excited about things like this, and Keith’s grumbles and sarcastic remarks are really mostly a front. He wishes he could join Shiro in his joy. He kind of wants to try.

Cookies seem like a good first step. Cookies, he can get behind.

Shiro tosses him an apron and ties one around his own waist. It looks a little ridiculous, only covering like a third of his broad frame – clearly it was made for someone more petite. But Keith certainly does not mind.

He puts on his apron and gets ready to get down to business.

Cookies are harder than either of them thought.

“I feel lied to,” complains Shiro, looking down despondently at the mess of flour and dough in front of him. “They make it look so easy in the hallmark movies! They just sit there with the blandly handsome man in their sleepy home town that they left for their big city dreams and whip out these picture-perfect cookies no problem!”

Keith just shows Shiro his dough-covered hands helplessly. “Why is it so sticky?”

Shiro fails to hide his snicker. “You need more flour.”

“Nuh uh, I don’t want to end up like you.” Keith eyes him suspiciously. He’s working basically in a permanent cloud of flour. Half of it seems to have ended up on his sweater. It’s more white than red, now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Look at you! You look like you just busted a coke operation!”

At that, they both burst into laughter, unable to hold it together any longer. Keith doubles over, dropping his elbows to the table, no longer caring that he’s going to get his shirt all messy. He tries to keep his doughy hands away from his hair, at least, because _that_ would be a pain in the ass to get out.

“I thought you’d done this before,” Keith gasps as they settle down and he tries to recover his breath.

“Well…usually my aunts do the actual _making_ of the cookies,” Shiro admits, somewhat sheepishly. “I have plenty of experience eating them, though,” he defends.

“Good god, okay. Listen, we’re both, like, rocket scientists, basically. We can figure this out.”

With some wrangling, they manage to make it to the cookie-cutting stage. Keith starts out rolling the dough out into sheets, but after his first couple impatient attempts result in torn or paper-thin dough, Shiro carefully removes the rolling pin from his hands with a grimace.

“Keith, I’m sorry, but you are too aggressive for this cookie dough.”

Shiro may have biceps the size of Keith’s thigh – _oh god, oh no, don’t think about that_ – but he could hold a baby bird in his hand and not so much as bruise it. You could not say the same for Keith.

Shuffling Keith out of the way, Shiro takes over and gently rolls out the dough into a perfect, even sheet. Show off.

Next, they both huddle around the sheet of dough with their favorite cookie-cutter shapes. Keith’s chosen a snowflake to start with, Shiro a Christmas tree. When they make their first cuts and try to lift them up and put them on the waiting baking tray, however, they learn that their shapes are not the most sturdy. The dough is flimsy and delicate, and even picking the shapes up to separate them from the rest of the dough distorts them. By the time they get to the cookie sheet, they’re mangled beyond recognition.

“Shit.” Keith remarks after several failed attempts to transfer the cookies while maintaining some semblance of their structural integrity.

Shiro isn’t willing to give up just yet. “No, no, we can do this. We can do this!”

Keith watches as he brings another cookie, cradling it into his hands, and drops what looks like just a lump of flattened dough onto the cookie sheet. He stares down at it desperately, like maybe it’ll just magically spring back into its shape.

After a moment of consideration, Keith decides to give up.

“Fuck it; I’m just eating the dough.”

“Keith…”

Keith hops up to sit on the kitchen island and immediately starts picking at the scraps of dough and eating them, swinging his legs. “Hey, you keep on trying. More power to ya,” he mumbles around his cookie-dough-stuffed mouth.

Shiro shoots him a pained look. “Keith, you can’t eat raw cookie dough. You’re gonna get sick.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “That’s just a lie the government tells us to keep us from living life to the fullest.” He punctuates it by tossing another scrap of dough in his mouth and raising his eyebrows in challenge.

Shiro does keep trying, bless his heart, and once he figures out from Keith eating away the edges of the sheet of dough that if he pulls off the dough surrounding their cutouts, he can slide a spatula under them and transfer them faithfully to the cookie sheet, he’s off to the races.

As Shiro puts two trays in the oven, Keith slides off the counter and tosses himself onto the couch, belly full with cookie dough. He hums contentedly, warm and comfortable. So far, this isn’t too bad.

Finished in the kitchen, Shiro comes to join Keith on the couch as they wait, lifting his legs out of the way so he can sit down, and then letting them fall back down on his lap. Keith’s pulse speeds, unsure what to do with the casual closeness. He tries to relax into it, tries not to blush too noticeably.

“Sorry our first activity didn’t go more…smoothly,” Shiro says, looking down at his clasped hands like he actually is sorry, and that just won’t do.

Keith scoffs, makes it completely clear that that’s bullshit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about; I just got like half a batch of cookie dough out of that, _and_ I still have freshly baked ones to look forward too. Christmas cookies are officially on my nice list. Next time I’m just gonna let you make them, though.”

That gets a laugh, and Shiro eyes him what he probably thinks is sternly, but really he just looks concerned.

“Yeah, don’t come running to me when you get sick from salmonella.”

Shiro purses his lips tightly after that, and Keith smirks, because he so clearly is fighting to stop himself from following that up by asking Keith to actually, please do come to him for help if he gets sick.

“I have a stomach of steel,” he reassures him, “don’t worry.”

They both sort of zone out while the cookies bake, a little tired from the drama of it all. Shiro’s changed his sweater to one not so covered in flour, and Keith watches his eyes blink slowly, sleepily. He’s almost mesmerized by the sight, the smell of the cookies wafting from the oven, the weight of Shiro’s arms resting on his shins. The time passes mostly in a comfortable silence until the beeping of the oven makes them both jump.

“I’ve got it,” Keith says, swinging his legs over and getting up.

He puts on oven mitts to pull the trays out of the oven, but there’s a wet spot on one of them, so his hand gets burnt when he grabs the hot tray. With an involuntary yelp, he holds on until he can get it up over the stove, and then drops it with a loud clatter.

Shiro’s there in an instant, rushing up into Keith’s space to see what’s wrong. It’s amazing how someone so large can move so quickly.

Keith is fine, truly; a little burned hand is nothing to him, but he knows Shiro will be hearing none of that, especially when he lets slip a little hiss and a grimace when he pulls his hand free of the traitorous mitt.

“Did you burn yourself?” Shiro asks, voice laced with a level of concern not at all proportional to the severity of the situation.

Keith looks to the ceiling, mentally preparing for the excessive outpouring of worry that is about to happen before he nods. It’s pointless to try to stop it, he knows by now. Shiro always overreacts massively whenever Keith hurts himself – that’s why when Keith broke his hand sparring with him once, he tried to hide it from his as long as he could to avoid worrying him. It hadn’t worked out that way.

“Here, run it under cold water,” Shiro instructs as he takes hold of Keith’s wrist gingerly, as if his wrist could be hurt too and he just has to take all precautions. He turns the faucet on and puts Keith’s hand under it, turning to him with a heartbreakingly concerned expression. Keith wishes he could reach out and smooth away that crease in his brow, wipe that look off his face. Instead, he rolls his eyes fondly and gives Shiro a genuine smile, trying to ease his mind.

“Shiro. It’s fine, really. I hardly even feel it.”

Shiro only frowns, unconvinced. “Yeah, that’s because the cold water is numbing it; there’s still tissue damage going on and it’ll hurt later and maybe I still have that burn salve in my first aid kit, I’ll have to look…”

Keith tunes it out as Shiro rambles on, just letting him do what he needs to do. He’s long ago figured out that the only thing that really helps Shiro feel better is just to let him take care of him. So even though the attentive care still feels a little strange, almost uncomfortable because of how foreign it is to him, Keith allows it.

“Shiiiro, you know what’d _reaaally_ make me feel better?” Keith lilts after Shiro’s examined and salved and bandaged his minor burn to his satisfaction.

Shiro perks up immediately at the idea of an opportunity to help more, and it at once makes Keith want to laugh and cry.

“A warm cookie, straight out of the oven,” he continues.

Shiro looks between him and the cookies, still sitting on their trays, adorably conflicted.

“But…we were supposed to decorate them, too…That’s what makes them Christmas cookies…”

“They’re Christmas shaped,” he argues, and they…sort of are. Shiro’s valiant efforts to preserve their shape kind of got distorted as they spread in the oven, but he’s not about to say that in front of him.

Shiro’s still holding onto his hand, for some reason, and he’s trying very hard not to fixate on it.

With a shrug, Shiro acquiesces. “Alright, fuck it. This is close enough.”

Happily, Keith immediately grabs a cookie in each hand and doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of this chapter, here's one of my personal favorite holiday cookie recipes (that I promise will not give you nearly as much trouble as the one Shiro and Keith decided to use, lol): https://aprettylifeinthesuburbs.com/candy-cane-crumble-nutella-cookies/
> 
> You can find me on twitter @sweetfirewrites :)


	3. The Second Day

So, Shiro’s grand plan is off to a fairly disastrous start. He’s managed to both completely fail to make Christmas cookies and get Keith injured in just one night. He grimaces at the thought.

Clearly, he needs help, so it’s a good thing he recruited Matt.

_“Oh, you want me to be your wingman?”_ Matt said, that first night when Shiro asked him to help him formulate his plans. Shiro did not even deign that with a response.

Today’s activity was Matt’s idea. Maybe it’ll be a fresh start.

Currently, Matt is on the phone with him, reporting back on his mission of the morning.

“The deed is done,” Matt says in a low voice, as if he doesn’t want to be overheard.

Shiro rolls his eyes, even though he knows Matt can’t see him. “Dude, don’t talk about it like it was some illicit activity.” All he asked him to do was to go cover Keith’s door with Christmas decorations while he was in class – Shiro would’ve done it himself, but their schedules overlap enough that there wasn’t a time he could go when he knew Keith wouldn’t be there.

“You’re no fun. You have a pretty intricate way of flirting though, I’ll give you that.”

“ _Matt_ ,” he whines, “I’m not—”

“Bye!”

And with that, Shiro is promptly hung up on.

He’s _not_ flirting. He’s really not. Not that he doesn’t want to, if he’s being honest with himself. He absolutely does. But it wouldn’t be right. That’s not what Keith wants, and it’s not what he needs right now. He needs a friend, a support system – not someone who wants to keep him all to himself.

That evening, walking to Keith’s dorm because he insisted on picking him up, Shiro steels himself to see him, knowing that he’ll be all bundled up and irresistible. He sounded excited when Shiro told him to dress for cold – and very quickly broke under Keith’s questioning and told him they were going ice skating.

“That isn’t _really_ a _Christmas_ activity…” he’d said, but Shiro could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yes it is,” Shiro argued, because hey, he’s putting together a whole twelve perfect days of Christmas on very short notice; give him a break. Keith let it slide, and Shiro told him to be ready by 7.

Keith opens the door, shuffling out into the hallway while clutching a bundle of his gloves and hat and scarf to his chest. He looks like he may have just woken up from a nap; his unruly hair’s even a little more mussed than usual, his cheeks have a slight flush to them and his eyes are soft, narrowed slightly and blinking slowly. The sight makes Shiro’s heart clench and he almost wants to suggest they turn around and go back inside so he can cuddle Keith back to sleep, but Keith locks the door behind him and looks up at Shiro with an expectant smile.

“Well? Lead the way, Christmas maestro.”

The skating rink is outdoors, one that’s put up every winter season in the center of town, a favorite spot for families and couples and teenagers on winter break. It’s always a bit busy, which Shiro worried about, knowing crowds put Keith on edge, but he picked a weeknight in the hopes that it wouldn’t be too bad. And of course, he’ll be paying close attention to how Keith is feeling and adjust accordingly, which is just sort of his default state by now.

They don’t really have skates big enough for Shiro’s feet, so he squeezes into ones a size or two too small, much to Keith’s obvious amusement. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Keith laces his skates up his ankles deftly, trying to copy his movements. It isn’t until then, already sitting on the benches next to the skating rink, that it occurs to Shiro that he hasn’t actually been ice skating since he was a child, and it might be harder than it looks.

Keith clearly knows what he’s doing, done with his skates quickly and pulling his gloves on now that his fingers aren’t needed. He gets up and walks, somewhat stiltedly, but steadily, on the covered skates, over to the side of the rink, leaning on the panels and waiting for Shiro with a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Once he’s laced his skates on, Shiro tries to do the same, but quickly finds that he is much less adept at walking with blades on his feet than Keith is. He wobbles and stumbles his way over, somehow making it until he can steady himself on the rail. When he looks up, Keith is covering his mouth with his gloved hand and his eyes are glittering with mirth. He means to feign offense, but the look on Keith’s face just makes his brain short out for a moment. He loves putting that look on Keith’s face. More than anything. Relaxed, easy, happy. It almost makes him want to puff his chest out, makes him feel like he’s succeeded in his most important job.

Keith gives him a look he can’t quite interpret, then nods towards the rink.

“Shall we?”

With the first step onto the ice, Shiro realizes he’s fucked up. He holds onto the railing with both hands as he gingerly steps on, feet already slipping and sliding under him. They just won’t stay still, always drifting backwards or forwards and it’s taking all the strength in his thighs to keep from doing involuntary splits. His eyes search for Keith, who is skating backwards away from him like it’s nothing, tilting his head at him curiously.

Not one to give up so easily, Shiro tries to extricate himself from the wall, slowly letting go with each hand when he feels like his feet are stable, keeping his arms raised to help him balance. Keith does a couple small loops and skates back to him, stopping with the sides of his skates when he reaches Shiro and looking him up and down.

“So I take it you don’t go skating a lot,” he observes, needlessly.

Shiro tries to straighten, to look a little more normal, but all it does is throw off the distribution of his weight minutely so that his feet go slipping around wildly as he struggles to keep himself from falling. Keith is openly laughing at him now, doubled over and clutching at his stomach. He comes closer, offers his hands, which Shiro takes gladly, and steadies him, helps him stop wobbling like a newborn calf.

When he manages to unglue his eyes from his untrustworthy feet and look up at Keith, he’s watching him with a glimmer in his eyes. He’s amused, but it almost seems tinged with something else Shiro can’t put his finger on, something warm around the edges, in the crinkle of his smile. He shakes it off, because otherwise he might start falling again.

Keith’s still holding his hands. His grip is firm and strong, reassuring, and Shiro knows he won’t let go unless he asks him to.

“Need a little help there?” he teases.

“I – yeah, maybe…” Shiro looks at their feet, once again a bit embarrassed that his plans so far seem to be mainly accomplishing the task of making himself look incompetent in front of Keith.

Keith straightens a bit, rolls his shoulders back with a smirk. “Now _I_ get to teach _you_ something for a change,” he says proudly, and maybe this isn’t a total disaster yet. “Remember Shiro, patience yields focus,” he tells him sagely, before breaking character and snickering at his own joke. He’s ridiculous. He’s so cute. Fuck.

Carefully, Keith starts skating backwards, keeping them securely joined by the hands and guiding Shiro slowly forwards. He gives him running tips, tells him to straighten his feet, bend his knees, and encourages him as he starts to slip less, even gets confident enough to start trying to pick up his feet and make little strokes against the ice with them the way Keith coaches him to.

Keith’s a good teacher, and it’s something he’d never really had the opportunity to see before. All it does is send his heart tumbling even further. There really is no hope of recovery.

Steadily, Shiro starts to get the hang of it, until he can skate, albeit slowly, without immediately falling over. Keith lets go of one of his hands when it becomes clear he doesn’t need it, keeps the other one as a safety line and moves to skate beside Shiro instead. His freed hand feels cold now, despite the thick glove covering it. He allows himself, just for now, to savor the feeling of Keith still holding the other one between them.

Keith’s a little quiet now, as they skate in slow circles around the rink, passed by laughing children and friends racing each other.

“I…I liked the, uh – the Christmas decorations. On my door. Thank you.”

His voice is small, a little hesitant, and it makes Shiro turn to look at him. His cheeks are definitely pink, but that’s probably just the cold, Shiro tells himself. He’s avoiding Shiro’s gaze, except for his eyes darting over to him intermittently, almost shy in a way he hasn’t been with Shiro in a long time. He’s puzzled by it for a minute, but it strikes him that this must be another part of the way Keith is so unused to being cared for, shown kindness – he doesn’t quite know, sometimes, how to process it. The thought puts another hairline fracture in Shiro’s heart, but he does what he can – squeezes Keith’s hand in his, just once, and smiles at him honestly, warmly, when Keith looks at him.

“You’re welcome,” he says, simply.

Shiro insists that Keith go off on his own for a while, not encumbered by Shiro, so that he can actually skate. Keith looks unsure at first, but Shiro encourages him, skating over to lean on the side panels and watch.

Keith on his own is graceful, fast and sure on his feet, and Shiro can tell when he starts to enjoy himself, losing himself in the freedom of the motion the same way he does when he’s flying. It’s a beautiful thing to watch. There’s no question that Shiro admires Keith, in about a thousand ways, so what’s one more added to the list?

He shows off a little; Shiro thinks he catches him glancing his way to make sure he’s watching before he spins easily or speeds up over an open stretch of ice.

When they eventually make their way off the ice, they’re tired and chilly, and Shiro’s trying to hide his winces at the blisters the too-small boots left on his feet, but it’s all in a good way. Shiro insists on walking Keith home, despite his mumbled, weak protests. As they walk side by side, snow crunching beneath their feet, he can tell Keith is happy, contentedly quiet and sweet in a way he only gets at specific times, soft around the edges.

It’s the best early Christmas gift Shiro could have asked for.


	4. The Third Day

Keith wakes pleasantly sore, in a way that he’s used to.

He enjoys skating – he doesn’t think Shiro knew that, but he stumbled upon a great idea. Usually, he goes late at night, when there aren’t so many people – but he found the crowd didn’t really bother him much, this time, not with Shiro there as a buffer. If he’s being honest, he didn’t really notice the other people there at all.

What he isn’t so used to is the strange feeling of giddy warmth in his stomach as he thinks back over the night before. Shiro’s attention is addictive, feels better than the best drug out there. He blushes to recall the feeling of having Shiro’s hands in his for so long, how big they felt wrapped within his, how good it felt to still be able to support him.

Keith knows he should shove those kinds of thoughts out of his mind, not allow himself to dwell on them – it’ll be better for him in the long run. But this morning, sleepy and warm and cast in the soft winter sun coming in through his window, he can’t bring himself to care.

With a long, languid stretch, Keith rolls over onto his stomach and digs his phone out of his rumpled sheets, yawning as he checks his calendar out of habit. There isn’t much on his schedule today – he’s finished with exams, and things have pretty much wound down. The only thing that matters on there is today’s Christmas activity with Shiro – it’s in the evening again, but Shiro refused to give him any hint into what it might be when he asked.

Keith gets up on his knees, sinking into the mattress, to peer out the window over his bed, which looks out across the stretch of land between his dorm and the Garrison gym. It’s snowing, big fluffy chunks of it falling down and sticking to the sheet of white that’s already started accumulating on the ground. Footprints tracking through the freshly laid snow are few and far between – with exams nearly over, people have already started to disperse, leaving the Garrison increasingly empty in a way Keith should enjoy, but that kind of dreads.

This is the time of year when usually, the mass exodus of the Garrison marks the beginning of Keith’s forced isolation. He basically hibernates over the holidays, leaves his room only to stock up on mostly non-perishable foods from the empty cafeteria and then crawl back under his sheets. Outwardly, he would never admit it, but it hurts. Even now, just looking out his window, puts a familiar pang in his chest.

He has to remind himself that this year, it isn’t like that. This year, he has Shiro, who for some reason Keith could never understand has decided to dedicate himself to making sure he doesn’t spend this holiday alone.

He feels a little tickle in his throat, a prickling in the corner of his eyes, and he’s surprised to find tears welling up in them all of a sudden. He sniffs, wiping at his eyes angrily. He doesn’t cry about this anymore. He isn’t sure what’s wrong with him. All this gentle treatment from Shiro must be turning him soft. Still, he can’t bring himself to believe that’s the worst thing in the world.

Because he has so little left to do, Keith spends much of the day running simulations, even though he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t like staying idle, so he gets some extra practice in, honing his reaction time, his instincts and intuition for flight, pushing himself harder.

Even though it’s not directly physical, the adrenaline and focus required for simulations always takes it out of Keith, leaving him breathing heavy and sweating. Making use of the rush, he does what he often does and follows up his practice with a trip to the gym, pushing his body until he’s exhausted. He doesn’t want to completely wear himself out today, not knowing what Shiro’s plans for tonight will entail, but somewhere between his warmup and the punching bags he kind of forgets that.

He works through the residual emotions from this morning with hard impact on his limbs and straining in his muscles, putting himself into a sort of trance until he reaches the point where Shiro always steps in if he’s there, keeps a safe distance but interrupts – his name in Shiro’s voice always breaks him out. Shiro makes sure he doesn’t push himself too far, which at first used to annoy Keith, made him snap and want to rebel, but he’s long since figured out how to help without setting off Keith’s defenses, without making him feel like he’s being controlled. He isn’t sure at what point along the line of their friendship he learned how to accept his help…but he’s glad he did.

By now, maybe he’s internalized Shiro’s messages, because he hears Shiro’s words in his head when he reaches that point, and without his permission, the fight just starts to leak out of him, the way it always does when Shiro lays a careful hand on his shoulder and asks – pleads, really – him not to hurt himself. His hands slow, losing their force, and it’s only as the adrenaline starts to leave him that he realizes how hard he went, how much his lungs burn and his body aches. It surprises him a bit. He didn’t realize he had that much inside to get out.

He heads to the showers, limping a bit, and he tells himself he’s glad Shiro’s not here to fuss over him. If he misses it a little, no one has to know.

Shortly after, Keith comes out of the shower dripping with water instead of sweat, adjusting the towel tied around his waist when he nearly runs straight into Shiro, who’s coming around the other side of the row of lockers. Shiro must just be coming in from his workout to the showers, because he’s still flushed and breathing heavily, but he’s taken his shirt off and is using it to wipe the sweat off the back of his neck. They both spring back, and both seem frozen for a moment – on Keith’s part, he knows it’s because he’s stunned into stupidity by the sight in front of him and is doing his best not to make it obvious that his mouth is watering. But who knows why Shiro’s blinking blankly back at him.

Shiro recovers faster than Keith, bringing his shirt in front of his chest almost like he’s embarrassed and trying ineffectively to cover himself with the lumped up fabric, which would be hilarious if Keith were currently processing any information other than _abs, glistening with sweat, holy fuck_.

“You gonna be ready for our – uhh…thing tonight?” Shiro asks, running a hand through his hair.

Keith nods and plasters a smile onto his face, because to be honest, he’s still feeling a little fragile and in his head, not to mention physically beat, but he certainly doesn’t want Shiro to think he’s not excited.

“You’ll be at my place at eight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shiro grins. “I uh, better hit the showers,” he says, thumbing behind him, and Keith lets him go with a promise to see him soon.

As Keith turns to get his clothes back out of his locker, he stiffens at the sound of wet footsteps approaching behind him. It’s not as if he should really be in danger, here in the Garrison gym locker rooms, but out of instinct, he tenses, ready to strike if need be. When he hears a derisive snort behind him, he whips around, already scowling. Ugh. Fucking _James_. Just his luck that _he_ would be one of the few people left, and that he’d decide to ruin his day today of all days.

“So you and Shirogane finally start dating?” he goads.

It takes Keith a moment of figuring out what the hell he’s talking about before he rolls his eyes emphatically, finishing it off with a sharp glare.

“ _No_ , idiot,” he spits.

“Then what’s this ‘thing’ you’re meeting for?” he presses, smirking.

Keith hopes warts grow all over James’ body overnight. Wishes it had happened years ago, actually.

“Fuck off,” he snarls instead of even trying to explain – this shithead isn’t worth anymore breath – and turns back to his locker, starting to pull on his clothes. He hopes his reputation combined with the aggression still radiating off of him after his gym session is enough to ward him off, and after a moment, when he hears the footsteps retreating behind him, he can finally let his shoulders deflate.

They’re sore, and there’s a crick in his neck, and he sighs heavily before throwing his backpack over his shoulder and shuffling back to his room.

By the time eight o’clock rolls around, some of Keith’s unfortunate bad mood has dissipated on its own, and it’s only helped along when Shiro shows up at his door, all bundled up and ready for some Christmas cheer. He can’t help his answering smile, but he knows Shiro can pick up on his mood being off, so he appreciates it extra when Shiro fills their walk to whatever their destination is with idle chatter about things that will make Keith laugh, or that he’s interested in, or that otherwise distract him from himself for a while.

His heart begins to feel lighter as they walk, clutching their coats to themselves tightly against the cold, but mercifully still, night air. Keith tilts his head up into the gentle fall of snowflakes, still persisting, and sniffs the crisp, clean air. It’s quiet, everything a little muffled from the snow, and Shiro’s voice is a soft, comforting constant. There are lights adorning trees and fences and buildings as they pass through town, some of them diffused into a soft glow by the snow that covers them.

Keith isn’t really sure what Christmas is supposed to feel like, but he thinks this might be it.

When Shiro brings them to a halt, it’s in an old part of town, with parks and wide streets and brick-faced townhouses each sporting wreaths on their front doors. There’s a small group of people a few yards away, huddled together and each holding something, talking amongst themselves. Shiro looks to them, then back to Keith.

“We’re going caroling!” he announces, throwing his arms out as if to make it seem extra exciting.

Keith gives it a moment, then fixes him with an _extremely_ skeptical look.

“Yeah, I know,” Shiro drops his arms limply to his sides, looking a little pained, “it’s not really your type of thing, but I was running out of ideas! And listen, caroling is actually a classic, integral part of the Christmas tradition, so I would be remiss to leave it out of your holiday-ing education…”

Keith’s not convinced, and Shiro knows he’s not convinced, but what he is is hopeless against Shiro’s – well, everything. So he’ll go along with it. For Shiro.

Going along with it for Shiro gets him about twenty minutes in, and that is seriously pushing it.

There may be a lot he would be able to put up with for Shiro’s sake – but tonight he has discovered something he will not. The only thing that’s kept him going this far is the way Shiro’s so clearly enjoying himself, standing up so straight and singing enthusiastically at each new home they migrate to, songs he clearly knows and loves, but that are little more than passingly familiar to Keith.

Once his patience has been fully depleted, Keith fixes Shiro with a Look, blinking up at him imploringly, hoping to communicate the sentiment of “please get me the fuck out of here” without offending their fellow carolers. Shiro, of course, understands, and isn’t even annoyed, even though he should be, because Keith is dragging him away from an activity he clearly enjoys and he’s just now realizing that maybe Shiro doesn’t want to spend the evening babysitting him.

He’s about to backtrack, to come up with some excuse to tell Shiro he’s going home but that he should stay, really, but before he can, Shiro just gives a good natured chuckle and nods, like he was expecting this.

He excuses them and leads Keith out of the little cluster with a hand between his shoulder blades, pressing gently. Keith wants to lean back into it, but he stops himself. They’re not yet far enough away from the carolers to safely talk, but Shiro keeps his hand on him as they walk in silence down the middle of the empty street, almost like he’s forgotten it’s there.

As they walk back past the little park, the quaint row of old houses, Keith’s attention is drawn to an approaching clopping sound that echoes over the snow-covered space, accompanied, he can tell as it draws closer, by the bright jingling of bells. They round the corner, and the source of the sound comes into view – it’s a carriage, drawn by two huge bay horses, trotting through the snow with their breath coming out of their nostrils in puffs of steam. It’s like something plucked straight out of a Dickens novel; he half expects the ghost of Christmas past to be floating along behind them.

Keith doesn’t know why he’s so enchanted by the sight, but his eyes are locked on the carriage as it draws near and he can’t help but stare, wide-eyed.

Keith’s never been able to ask for things. Never really even understood how to _want_ things.

But Shiro happens to look over at just the right moment, and he must see the look on Keith’s face as the carriage passes by and understand in a way he doesn’t, because the next thing he knows Shiro’s left his side and is jogging down the street to catch up with it, waving to stop the driver and saying something to him that Keith can’t hear.

The ride is bumpy and the air stings his cheeks as the horses pull them quickly along the street, but Keith’s smile won’t leave his face. Shiro keeps glancing over at him, for some reason, but he’s enjoying himself too much to think too deeply into it.

It’s cold, and the carriage seat is small, and those are perfectly good reasons for Keith to shuffle a little closer to Shiro on the seat, pressing their sides together. The snow is still falling lightly, landing on his eyelashes and melting on his nose, and he’s happy.


	5. The Fourth Day

“ _Maaaaaaatt_.”

“Shiro.”

“Matt, this is so bad. I’m doing a terrible job. Oh my god – what if Keith ends up having an even worse Christmas than when he was alone?”

“Shiro. Calm down.” Matt interrupts his spiraling, dropping a plate with a sandwich unceremoniously on his stomach where he’s lying sprawled out dramatically on Matt’s bed. “It’s going fine. Keith’s gotten to stuff his face with cookies, the ice skating was a hit even if you weren’t good at it, and it sounds like he ended the night last night really having a good time, right?”

He’s right, technically. The look on Keith’s face last night when he climbed onto that carriage is something he’ll treasure in his memory for a long time. He’s so glad he happened to glance over to him at the right time, that he interpreted the wonder in his eyes correctly. He wishes Keith felt more comfortable voicing what he wanted. It would make it much easier for Shiro to give it to him.

“What’s the plan for tonight again?” Matt asks, muffled by the cheetos he’s munching on. Shiro holds his hand out and pouts so Matt will hold the bag out to him. He grabs a handful and throws them on his plate.

“Gingerbread house decorating,” Shiro tells him.

“Oh, right. Well, that’s one of my ideas, so you know it’ll be a success.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

“Hey, want me to set up some mistletoe in your apartment?” Matt asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh my god, Matt, no – that is not—”

“Yeah, you’re right. Keith probably doesn’t know what mistletoe is. You’ll have to teach him first. _Then_ …”

Shiro chucks a cheeto at Matt’s face, hitting him in the nose, and the conversation ends there.

This time, Shiro told Keith to come meet him at his apartment, where he’s spent the last hour or so getting everything set up for their gingerbread house decorating. He went to the grocery store to buy the premade gingerbread house kits in preparation and may have gone a bit overboard with the candy to decorate them, edible glitter, little gingerbread men to put in the front yards…it’s fun, okay? Sue him.

He's also decorated his apartment more heavily than it was before, wanting to make sure Keith gets the full force of the Christmas spirit. The tree is still missing, though – he’s saving that to do with Keith.

Right before Keith is supposed to arrive, he makes sure all the supplies are laid out on the kitchen table – with trashbags underneath to protect it from the mess they will inevitably make – ladles out two glasses of hot apple pie moonshine from his crockpot where he’s had it warming, and puts on a playlist of his favorite Christmas music.

Christmas is barely over a week away now, and in his mind, that means it’s time to ramp it up.

“Oh wow,” is Keith’s involuntary response when Shiro swings open the door to reveal the festive menagerie inside.

It’s not exactly an ‘oh wow, this is so cool’ oh wow, but it’s not an ‘oh wow, I hate this’ oh wow either, so Shiro counts that as a win.

“Today’s activity is building and decorating gingerbread houses,” he explains as he ushers Keith in, who’s still looking around a little dazedly. “I used to do this every year with my family as a kid.”

Keith throws him a playfully doubtful look over his shoulder. “Are you sure this is a good idea, considering how the cookies went?”

“The gingerbread is already baked! See, I bought premade kits!” he waves the boxes in the air insistently, and Keith just laughs. “All we have to do is like, glue them together with icing, and then put a ton of candy on them! And you can eat all the extra candy you want,” Shiro cajoles, though he’s pretty sure Keith doesn’t actually need convincing.

“Now you’re talking.”

Keith certainly takes him up on that offer – he also keeps trying to eat the gingerbread itself, and Shiro has to snatch it away from him and scold him every time.

“Keith! This is necessary for the structural integrity of the house! It’s not for eating!”

“But it’s _food!_ ”

They each have a house of their own, and they get to work, using bags of frosting to squeeze out lines of sugary glue to attach the parts of the houses together. Shiro keeps sneaking glances at Keith as he works, because he’s taking this pretty seriously and the concentrated look on his face and the way the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth a little as he pipes out a precise line may be the most adorable thing Shiro’s ever seen.

God, he’s so perfect.

Maybe he should slow down on the apple pie.

Keith seems to be getting tipsy a little too, he realizes now – he has that telltale flush on his cheeks, his lips are pinker and he’s getting talkative.

As they’re chatting, they get onto the topic of yesterday, and the failed caroling – and successful carriage-ing.

“Sorry if I seemed a little grumpy yesterday,” Keith mumbles out of the blue, frowning down at the gummy bears he’s trying to stick in a line on the edge of his roof. Immediately, Shiro detects a vulnerable note in his voice, so he treads carefully.

“You didn’t, really,” Shiro shrugs it off, and he didn’t – he could tell something was up with him, especially when they ran into each other at the gym and he looked like he’d just dueled a dragon or something (Shiro _very_ forcefully keeps his brain away from remembering what that had looked like, because holy shit), but Keith had been fine when they were together. “Why, did something happen?” he asks lightly, cracking open the door.

Keith kind of grumbles unintelligibly, then sighs, shoving a couple gummy bears in his mouth in frustration when they fall off the roof one too many times.

“No, I just…I was having kind of shit morning for no reason, and then fucking _James_ showed up and was an ass as always, and—”

“Wait, what?” Shiro interrupts. “James was bothering you? What did he do?”

Keith gets evasive, then, shrugging and shaking his head. “I mean, it wasn’t a big deal, he just – you know him. He was just giving me shit.”

He doesn’t even know what the kid _did_ , but Shiro is livid at the mere idea of someone upsetting Keith, and _intentionally_ , too. It had happened a lot, back when they first met, and before, but things have changed since then. Belatedly, he realizes he’s been clenching his fists when the gingerbread man in his hand snaps in two. He gives it a silent apology.

Keith is looking at him, and he’s not sure why or what he’s thinking, probably partly because yeah, he’s definitely a couple glasses of apple pie moonshine too far in. All he knows is that the concept of someone being an asshole to Keith is inconceivable and unacceptable, and he kind of wants to challenge this guy to a fucking duel, or, or something. As he’s stewing, Keith apparently loses interest and goes back to decorating, now putting a little hershey kiss still in its wrapper as the chimney with smoke coming out. He looks pleased with himself, and it tempers Shiro’s anger on his behalf a little.

Still, he grumbles something implying he’ll gladly corruptly use his power and seniority to fuck over James, just say the word, and it makes Keith laugh and throw his head back, and everything is alright.

Their gingerbread houses become more and more intricate as the evening goes on – Keith, especially, seems to be strategizing ways to fit as much candy as physically possible onto his, and Shiro has moved to creating a whole scene in the “yard” of his house.

When Keith gets tipsy, he gets more playful than usual, and that trait comes out in a major way when Shiro makes the mistake of poking fun at the spot of icing he’s (adorably) gotten on his nose from getting in too close to his work. Keith pauses when he points it out through his laughter, scrunching up his nose and crossing his eyes to try to see it, which only makes Shiro laugh harder, clutching at his stomach.

Too quickly for Shiro to react in time, Keith’s eyes narrow, his lips twitch into a smirk, and he squirts a line of icing directly into Shiro’s face.

Shiro gapes, stunned, and Keith’s got a hand covering his mouth to hide his gleeful laughter.

“Oh no, you are not getting away with that,” he warns when he recovers, and dips his hand into the bowl of icing they’ve been using to coat the sides, gathering a whole clump of icing in his fingers and pouncing before Keith can leap back, smearing it all over his cheek.

Gasping, Keith stares at him with comically wide eyes. He takes only a moment to process the betrayal before he’s clambering for the bowl of icing, and they devolve into a full-fledged icing fight, laughing and screaming and swiping at each other, limbs flailing wildly.

They have a lot of cleaning up to do before Keith goes home for the night so he doesn’t get weird looks walking back to his room – although Shiro wants to suggest he spend the night, worried about him getting back okay, even though he really isn’t much more than tipsy. Still, Keith leaves his masterpiece at Shiro’s so that his lack of fine motor skills at the moment doesn’t doom it to getting smashed on the ground somewhere along the way. They’re both sleepy by the time they call it a night, and Keith looks so content, Shiro can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

If he hovers in his doorway watching Keith leave all the way until he turns a corner and disappears, no one needs to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my friend's apple pie moonshine recipe, which is dangerously delicious. It makes enough for a small army, but the ingredients can easily be scaled down. You can pour it into jars to keep or give to people, and I personally like warming it in a crock pot and serving it warm. I have been known to just hover next to the crockpot and ladle out scoop after scoop in my cup to just gulp down. 
> 
> 1/2 gallon apple juice  
> 1/2 gallon apple cider  
> 1/3 cup granulated sugar (up to 1/2 cup to taste)  
> 1 cup brown sugar  
> 2 tbsp vanilla  
> 2 tbsp lemon juice  
> A pinch of allspice  
> Liter of Bacardi gold (or other 160 proof rum)  
> 1 large cinnamon stick per jar
> 
> Mix everything except vanilla and cinnamon sticks and bring to a simmer. Add vanilla after taking it off heat. Put cinnamon sticks in jars and pour over; let sit for at least 4+ days for best flavor.


	6. The Fifth Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas tree time! Featuring some shameless Shiro thirsting, and some feelings. 
> 
> This was one of my favorite chapters to write, so I hope you enjoy! :)

This day, unlike any of the other days, Shiro’s told Keith what their activity is, because this one requires a bit more planning and time – today is Christmas tree day.

They eat lunch together in the cafeteria, as they often do, and Shiro gives him some more details. They’re going to borrow Matt’s truck, since Shiro just has his motorcycle now and that doesn’t exactly lend itself to lugging an entire tree around. Rather than doing the simple, normal thing and picking out a tree in some parking lot set up nearby, Shiro’s plan is for them to drive an hour and a half out into the forest to a place where you can find and chop down a tree yourself, like straight from the ground, because apparently Shiro thinks they’re Vikings or something. Shiro insists it’s necessary to get the purest form of the Christmas experience – they’ve got to go all out. Besides, he explains, this is how his family usually gets their tree, and once you do it this way, you never go back.

The plan is to head out right after lunch, so that they aren’t making their way back through the winding roads in the dark. It’s just as well, as far as Keith’s concerned – it’s not like he has much to do these days outside of these activities with Shiro, anyway.

Keith is waiting outside, hands shoved in his pockets for warmth and bouncing on his heels until a truck pulls up to the curb, garish orange and missing paint in spots, making a concerning amount of noise and shuddering ominously. If anyone other than Shiro rolled down that window and leaned out to gesture Keith inside, he would high tail it out of there, but as it is, he doesn’t hesitate to jog around to the other side and climb on in.

The heating is blasting inside, and Keith sighs into the rush of warm air, a welcome change. There are two coffees in the cupholders, and Shiro holds one out to him.

“Ready?” Shiro asks with an excited grin, lifting his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it.”

Keith navigates so that Shiro can focus on maneuvering around the tight turns of the mountain roads. When his services aren’t immediately needed, he looks out the window at the forest passing, the thick growth of pine trees occasionally giving way to the cleared land of a farm. The farther out from the city they get, the taller the trees seem to grow, capped with snow. The time passes quickly, as it usually does when it’s just the two of them, and before he knows it, they’re pulling into a small dirt parking lot on the edge of a dense forest.

“Here we are!” Shiro announces cheerfully, parking the truck and turning it off.

Keith follows him around to the truck bed, where he digs out two pairs of heavy, leather work gloves and an ax. The sight of Shiro’s hands firmly gripping the handle already has Keith swallowing thickly, and it occurs to him for the first time that this plan means he’s going to watch Shiro _cut down a tree_ like some sort of lurid fantasy that ends with him using the wood to build a fire in the fireplace in front of which he’s going to lay Keith down on a bearskin rug and – this line of thought has got to stop.

Surviving might not be in the cards today.

“Okay,” Shiro starts once he has their supplies gathered, and he’s got that tone to his voice that he always has when he’s working, taking charge of a situation and laying out the plan like the capable leader he is. The fact that he slips into it here is both adorable and undeniably hot.

“Usually the best trees are a little bit of a walk in, but we’re early enough that it won’t be too picked over,” he continues. “We’ll take that trail there a ways, and then head off-trail to find the perfect tree. After I cut it down, we’ll drag it back and tie it up in the truck bed. Sound good?”

Keith nods, suppressing the urge to salute and stand at attention with a smirk. Besides, if he did that, he’d probably end up saying “yes, sir” too by force of habit, and he’s not sure he’d be able to contain his embarrassed blush then.

Shiro told him to wear clothes suitable for hiking, so it’s no problem as they make their way up the rough trail of packed snow and mud. Occasionally, he has to dodge a lump of snow that falls from one of the tree branches above as the sun works on melting what’s left of the snowfall from the day before. There isn’t anyone else out here right now, at least not close enough to see or hear, and once they’re far enough away from the road that the sound of cars passing has faded, it feels like they’re much farther from civilization than they are. He likes it; it’s calm, peaceful. And it’s pretty out here in the forest. He wonders idly if Shiro likes camping, if he would take him on a camping trip if he asked. He bites his lip, frowning to himself at the idea – he knows he would never ask. Shiro gives him more than enough already.

Keith follows wordlessly when Shiro picks a point and veers off the trail, picking his way over the fallen branches and snow-laden brush. He must know what he’s doing, because soon they come to an area where the forest is noticeably sparser, the trees more spaced out and smaller than their thick-trunked counterparts. Shiro comes to a stop abruptly, putting his hands on his hips and nodding to himself. Keith assumes that means this is a good spot to look. He’ll trust the Christmas tree expert on this one.

“Okay, now comes the fun part!” Shiro gestures widely at the patch of forest almost proudly, like when a dog brings you a particularly good stick it found. “You can take your pick.”

Keith chews his lip, looking uncertainly at the swath of trees that, frankly, look pretty much the same to him.

“Uh, I’m not sure I’m…qualified to pick out the right Christmas tree,” he hedges. “Seeing as I’ve never had one.”

Shiro is undeterred, looks like he was expecting this. “That’s okay; there’s no such thing as picking out a wrong Christmas tree. It’s just whatever one you like. Just walk around with me and see which one speaks to you.”

Keith gives him an arched eyebrow, unsure about the concept of a tree “speaking” to him, but he goes along with it, because clearly this is what Shiro wants, and he isn’t going to disappoint him.

So he wanders off, meandering through the trees and looking them up and down appraisingly, not sure what he’s supposed to be looking for – or listening for, apparently. He thinks back to what he knows about what Christmas is supposed to be like, pictures the classic images of the tree, decorated and lit, presents nestled underneath its branches. In his mind, he conjures up a picture of a tree that’s tall and full, a nice shape, with a little bit sticking out the top, where he thinks you’re supposed to put a star or an angel or something.

The trees all look basically like he thinks Christmas trees are supposed to look, just a little less polished, a little more wild, since they’re not grown specifically for this purpose. He can feel Shiro watching him closely as he walks, clearly eager to see what he’s thinking even though he tries to hide it, to give Keith space to make his decision.

He’s about to roll his eyes and call him out on it when his gaze catches on one particular tree that makes him stop. Cocking his head, he squints at it, trying to figure out what he likes about it. It’s not perfect, like those trees he holds as the prototype, but its branches are full and plentiful, its trunk looks strong and sturdy, and it’s a little crooked at the top, almost like it’s cocking its head back at him. It just feels right.

Shiro comes to a stop beside him, assessing the tree with him.

“This one?” he asks excitedly, and when Keith nods, his face lights up in a grin. Keith can’t help but smile too, a little smaller, a little shy, but the enthusiasm is contagious.

Shiro stomps through the snow over to the tree, dropping the supplies to the ground with a clang and taking the ax in his hands. Looking over his shoulder, he smirks impishly. “Did it speak to you?” he asks, too earnestly.

This time, Keith does roll his eyes, and well-deservedly. “Just get to chopping,” he instructs.

As soon as he does so, he regrets it, because it immediately becomes clear that Shiro chopping down this tree is going to be even more devastating than he anticipated. Even just the way he takes the ax in both hands and adjusts his grip on the handle, tossing it a little to test the weight and balance of it, immediately brings back basically every embarrassing inappropriate thought he’s ever had about his friend. It’s a good thing he’s standing at a distance, so Shiro can’t hear the way he’s sure his breathing is starting to speed up as Shiro examines the tree trunk, planning out his first strike.

He spreads his feet, anchoring his stance, and takes a couple practice swings, lining up. Keith only has a moment to mourn the fact that Shiro’s cold-weather clothes mean he doesn’t get a good look at the way he knows his muscles will be flexing and straining before he winds up and makes the first strike. The sound of metal hitting wood echoes through the forest, but it’s the quiet grunt of effort that gets Keith’s attention.

Shiro tugs the ax free to reveal a good-sized notch in the trunk, then brings it down again with force, wedging into the wood, prying it apart. There’s just no use in pretending it is anything other than extremely hot, watching Shiro chop this tree down. Between the clear display of strength, the noises it works out of him, the way he just looks so _big_ , and the evidence of Shiro being so competent, capable of taking care of him out here in the wilderness – the scene goes straight to Keith’s primitive brain, running a shiver up his spine that’s got nothing to do with the cold.

Turns out layers were a good idea today, for more reason than one.

There’s little he can do but watch and try not to drool as Shiro does all the work, but he obviously knows what he’s doing, and he has a feeling if he tried to so much as move closer Shiro would freak out that he was in danger from the tree falling, despite the fact that it’s hardly big enough to be deadly. Even as it is, as Shiro gets further into the trunk and the tree starts to creak, he keeps glancing over at Keith like he’s worried, checking where he is even though he’s more than far enough away to be safe.

Once the gap in the trunk gets to be a little more than halfway through, the creaking amplifies and doesn’t stop, and Shiro backs away. There are surprisingly loud cracks and pops as the tree bends and the uncut side breaks, and Keith watches, impressed, as it seems to fall almost in slow motion. It lands with a large puff of snow.

Shiro turns from it to look to Keith with a grin of success, almost as if looking for approval.

“Now I suppose you want me to help you lug this thing back to the car,” Keith jokes with a faux-put-upon sigh.

“Nuh uh,” Shiro responds, “I cut down the tree; now it’s your turn. You’re on your own!” He makes a show of throwing the ax over his shoulder and marching off while Keith chuckles, rolling his eyes.

Together, they manage to drag the tree through the forest and back down the trail to the parking lot, where Matt’s truck is waiting. It takes some coordination and wrangling to get it up into the truck bed, and then they tie it down. They work quickly and efficiently together, tossing the rope back and forth until it’s secure.

On the drive back, Shiro tunes the radio until he finds the local Christmas music station, insisting that they stay in the spirit as they head back to undertake the next steps in what Keith is coming to know as the lengthy Christmas tree ritual. It all seems a bit strange to him, but it’s also kind of fun.

Back home, Shiro calls up Matt to help them put up the tree; says it’s easier with more than two people. Keith’s mildly amazed at how messy and somewhat arduous the whole ordeal is – they have to pick the tree up and carry its not unsubstantial weight on their shoulders, maneuvering around tricky corners in the hallways and squeezing it through Shiro’s front door. By the time it’s inside and propped up in its stand in Shiro’s living room, they’re both out of breath and there are pine needles literally _everywhere_.

When Matt arrives, he assigns himself the role of director, standing back a ways and examining the tree closely, hand on his chin, instructing Keith to rotate it all the way around several times to pick the best side and make sure it’s facing the room. Then, much to Keith’s annoyance, he has him keep making minute changes to the tree’s position to make sure it’s perfectly straight. Right as he’s about to reach the point of actually growling in frustration, Matt declares the tree perfect, holding out his hands and yelling for Keith to freeze right there so Shiro can crawl under the branches and tighten the screws that will hold the trunk in place.

They all gather to look at it, make sure everything’s satisfactory. It reaches all the way to the top of Shiro’s luckily-pretty-high living room ceiling, and thanks to their teamwork it’s nicely straight. It looks right.

After deciding his work is done, Matt nods decisively and slaps his hands against each other.

“Great, well unless you have any more need of my excellent services, I’ll just be going.”

Shiro frowns, stopping him. “You don’t have to go! Don’t you want to help us decorate?”

Matt pauses, looks back and forth twice between him and Shiro with an expression that Keith can’t interpret but does not trust one bit, then snorts derisively. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ll let you two take care of it on your own.”

With a wave, he turns on his heel and marches out.

It feels like they’ve been at this all day, but apparently the process has just begun, because once they’ve taken off their gloves and sap-sticky outer layers, it’s time to start decorating. They start with the lights – Shiro holds up several options for him, making him choose what kind he wants even though he insists it doesn’t matter to him, and after some pressing Keith picks a string of bright, multicolor lights to string around the tree. They work together, passing it back and forth as they wrap it around, Shiro showing him how to tuck the lights in between the branches so the wire doesn’t show, how to make sure they’re evenly spaced so there aren’t any empty patches.

Once that’s finished, they take a quick break for leftover cookies and glasses of milk, and Shiro starts up the Christmas music. He sings along under his breath to one of the songs and dances a little bit as he puts the milk away, almost like he’s forgotten he’s not alone, and the thought that maybe this is what Shiro’s like at home, in quiet, early morning moments that Keith doesn’t get to see, makes his chest tighten.

Refueled, they get back to work. Shiro’s gotten out a box of his Christmas ornaments and set it on the coffee table. He starts with plain bulbs, metallic and in different jewel-toned colors, distributing them evenly across the tree. Keith takes a box of his own – the silver ones – and watches Shiro, paying attention to how he does it until he’s ready to try and replicate it.

Shiro must notice, because he smiles a little to himself as Keith is frowning at the tree and searching for just the right place to put this bulb. “You don’t have to think about it too hard, you know,” he says gently, just a suggestion. “You can decorate it however you want.”

Keith hums in acknowledgement, relaxing slightly. He still wants to make sure it looks nice. He’s invested at this point.

It’s taken long enough that the sun has set now, and they’re illuminated by the warm light of Shiro’s lamps and the glow of the Christmas tree lights. They work mostly in companionable silence for a while, the music floating in softly from the kitchen. It’s nice.

After they finish with the bulbs, Shiro lifts off a sheet of cardboard in the box to reveal another layer of ornaments, each one unique, wrapped carefully in tissue paper. These are the special ones, the ones that hold memories and meaning for Shiro, or even just that he picked out because he liked them, still revealing something about what he’s drawn to, how he perceives the world. It feels almost intimate, like a privilege, to be allowed to see these little pieces of who Shiro is, to touch them and look through them freely and place them on the tree that they’re creating, together.

Because of this, Keith hesitates for a moment, almost nervous, glancing over at Shiro like he wants to make sure it’s really okay, but Shiro doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest, just diving in and picking up a bundle of tissue paper gingerly, unwrapping it to reveal a couple little paper cranes which hang delicately as he holds them up to look at them.

“Mmm, I love these,” he says, smiling fondly, heading over to the tree and thoughtfully considering where to hang them.

Keith bends over the box and searches for a first ornament to pick out, not really sure what he’s looking for, so he ends up just taking the one his eyes fall to first. It’s a small ceramic picture frame, an oval with a red ribbon to hang it, and, holding it up to the light, he can see that it’s a picture, clearly a little dated, of a smiling baby wearing a little santa outfit, in the midst of crawling up some stairs.

He jumps a little when there’s suddenly a warm chuckle by his ear, Shiro having appeared behind him, looking over his shoulder at the ornament.

“Is this you?” Keith asks, even though looking at it already feels like a bit of an intrusion to him. He’s too curious not to.

Shiro nods. “Yup. Pretty cute, huh?” he laughs, shaking his head. “God, hopefully there’s not too much embarrassing stuff in there.”

He turns away, picking out another ornament and leaving Keith standing there, for some reason trusting him with this precious memento. Keith doesn’t have any pictures of himself as a baby. It’s not easy to keep hold of possessions moving around through a carousel of foster homes. He stares at it, cradling it in his palms like he might accidentally break it by holding it too tightly.

If nothing else, he can give it the perfect place on the tree that it deserves, so he considers its placement carefully. He walks all the way around the tree, appraising the best spots, squats down when he finds what he thinks is a good place and squints at it appraisingly, holding the ornament out in the little cave made by the branches to make sure it looks right. Satisfied, he hooks the ribbon over the branch and checks the way it falls, making sure it’s not too heavy. When he gets back up, Shiro is watching him, an indecipherable look on his face.

“What?” Keith asks, cheeks heating a little, because he can’t help himself. 

“Nothing,” Shiro answers, almost under his breath, but he still has that funny look, seems like he’s caught in his head. That’s usually Keith’s job, he thinks to himself wryly.

The decorating continues, moving along steadily as the tree is populated with all sorts of ornaments, colorful and sparkling, big and small, some glass, some wood, some beautiful works of art, some unbelievably hokey. In the background, music from The Nutcracker has begun to play, elegant and intricate and quintessentially Christmas. When he hears it, Shiro smiles, a nostalgic glow washing over his face.

“I _love_ The Nutcracker. I usually go see the ballet with my aunts every Christmas. Sometimes we can get some of my cousins to come along too, but I think they think it’s boring.”

Keith considers this, smiling to himself at first at the image of Shiro, squished into a too-small theater seat and trying to contort himself to make himself smaller to minimize his disruption of the view of the people behind him. Then it hits him that he’s a complete idiot.

He’s been thinking so much about himself this whole time, he hasn’t even considered that Shiro must be having a hard time this Christmas, missing out on the family time and traditions with his loved ones while he’s stuck here.

Guiltily, Keith steps out on a limb he usually wouldn’t, and asks Shiro about his feelings.

“I – I’m sorry you’re stuck here over the holidays. Are you…are you sad you aren’t able to be with your family?”

Shiro blinks at him, almost like he doesn’t understand the question for a moment, then like he’s surprised. “Oh, no, it’s okay. I mean, yeah, it’s a little sad to not be spending Christmas with them, but I do every year; it’s really fine.” Shiro seems like _he’s_ trying to comfort _Keith_ , which is really not how Keith meant for this to go.

He chews on his lip and looks over at the nearly-finished tree, not really convinced.

“Actually, to be honest, I’ve half forgotten that I’m missing out on Christmas at home. Doing these activities with you has been really fun. I feel like I’m getting to put all my Christmas spirit into overdrive.”

When Keith looks back at Shiro, he can tell he’s being genuine, and it makes something fill Keith’s chest, something bubbly and threatening to overflow.

“Oh,” he murmurs towards his feet. “Good.”

A sudden laugh from Shiro a moment later breaks him out of his reflection, and he looks up to see Shiro holding a…frankly pretty ugly clay ornament, shaped in some sort of lump and painted haphazardly.

“My youngest cousin made this for me a few years ago. It’s adorable, but I always try to find a more…discrete place on the tree for it.”

It feels strange, kind of overwhelming, to be so freely offered these little windows into Shiro’s life, into the people and memories he holds most dear. It can be hard for Keith to accept, but he wants it so badly, appreciates the sign of closeness and craves more. He wants to make Shiro feel that way, too. He wants to return the favor.

Standing at the tree where he can keep a little guarded, where he has something to look at, to focus on, with Shiro by his side, hanging a little glass seahorse, he takes a deep breath, and tries.

“I kind of remember having Christmas with my dad,” he begins, not moving his attention from the tree. “When I was really little, so I don’t remember many details. But I know we had a tree, and presents and stuff, and I remember being excited. It was nice.”

When he does work up the courage to glance over to Shiro, he’s beaming. There’s a wetness to his eyes, too, that almost makes Keith regret it, afraid that he’s made Shiro sad, but there’s even more gratefulness, and warmth. Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder, the way he often does, and it’s heavy and comforting there, and he doesn’t move it.


	7. The Sixth Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through! Thanks for sticking with me :)

Shiro frowns down into his soup, stirring it around with his spoon and not really eating it. He’s thinking too hard for that distraction.

That is, until distraction barges its way in anyway, in the form of Matt clattering his tray down in front of him on the cafeteria table and sitting across from him. Looking up for a moment, Shiro gives his friend a nod and a small smile in greeting, then goes back to staring at his food.

“Hey, everything okay?” Matt asks immediately, lacking the joking tone he usually has.

Shiro sighs in response, shoulders sinking, and puts his spoon down, giving up on eating for the moment.

“It’s Keith,” he says, and Matt raises an eyebrow, but has the wherewithal not to interrupt, yet. “I just…I feel like I’m not doing enough.”

Now Matt raises his eyebrow even more, if that’s possible. “How so?”

“Ugh, ‘cause I’m an idiot,” he groans, frustrated. “This whole time I’ve been focusing all this energy into these daily activities, and it only just occurred to me last night after Keith went home that he’s almost definitely just spending all the rest of his time alone. That’s still a sad Christmas, just…a little less sad.”

Matt considers this, crunching on a carrot, scrunching up his nose. “I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You’re doing a lot. I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“Yeah, I know, but…I just – I just want him to be happy.” And that’s the crux of it, really, isn’t it? He looks up at Matt, almost shyly, expecting a smirk and some sarcastic remark, but instead, Matt’s looking at him thoughtfully, knowing and sympathetic.

“Do you think…would it be too much to invite him to just come stay at my place for the rest of Christmas? Or – I mean, at _least_ Christ eve and Christmas day, right? That wouldn’t be weird, would it?”

Again, he’s fully prepared to be teased, told he’s getting bolder, for Matt to imply he has an ulterior motive. Instead, Matt mulls it over, then shrugs.

“Nah, I mean – it’s a little weird, but so are the both of you. Keith would appreciate it.”

Christmas markets are one of Shiro’s favorite things about the holiday. Sure, maybe he says that about everything, but it’s really true. There’s something about it – being bundled up in the cold, crisp night, your breath coming out in puffs of steam; the soft, warm lights everywhere, with people gathered around fires, warming themselves; the smell of cinnamon and butter in the air from any number of delicious, hot treats sitting out for sale; the music that permeates every corner. To him, it’s magical. And it’s impossibly better with Keith at his side.

He keeps sneaking glances at Keith, watching him as he takes it all in for the first time; he can’t help it. His pretty eyes are wide, glittering with the lights reflecting in them. There’s something immensely pleasing about sharing this all with him, getting to observe his reaction to it, to see the way his face lights up. God. He really is done for.

Sometimes he has to physically stuff his hand in his pocket to keep from reaching out to take Keith’s in his; it just feels so right, here, so natural. Keith has been keeping close to him since they arrived, maybe just to avoid losing each other in the crowd, but it’s still sweet, the way their arms brush together and Keith doesn’t jerk away.

He doesn’t have to ask if Keith wants a hot chocolate when they reach a booth offering hot drinks, just buys two and hands the other to Keith, who ducks his head a little and smiles, muttering a thank you. It warms him from the inside out, a welcome side effect to the rich chocolate delivery mechanism. Keith makes a happy noise, slurping the whipped cream off the top of his.

“You know, I make the world’s best hot chocolate,” Keith states proudly, almost daring Shiro to argue, but he believes him.

He raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Really? Huh. You’ll have to make it for me sometime. Soon, preferably.” He bumps Keith’s shoulder lightly with his, cracking a grin.

They wander through the rows of tents, stopping at the booths of crafts and food to check out their wares, trying not to get run into by shrieking children who dart through the crowds. Keith looks at them with alarm like they’re some sort of alien species, and Shiro tries not to snort.

The thought worms its way into Shiro’s head that he wants to get Keith something, a memento of this Christmas together, and he can’t get rid of it once it’s there. None of the things he’s seeing seem right, though, until he catches the look on Keith’s face when they pass a booth adorned with rows and rows of snowglobes, seeming to sparkle underneath the Christmas lights surrounding them.

“Hey, Keith! Let’s look at these,” he suggests, stopping and waving him over. The craftswoman sitting in the booth nods at them with a friendly smile. She’s old, with braided grey hair and crepe-paper skin, but the apples of her cheeks are plump and rosy and her clothes are in vibrant colors. She has an air about her like she was plucked straight from a children’s fairy tale. Shiro’s not sure why, but she feels like good luck.

“Hmm, these are nice,” he says, pretending his interest is on his own behalf as he scans the shelves, looking at the different scenes held inside of the glass globes. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Keith leaning in close, fascinated, almost until his nose bumps into the glass. There are little village scenes, forests and lone Christmas trees and santas, nativities and trains and snow-covered mountains. His search stops when his eyes fall upon one globe, about the size of his closed fist, with a carved wooden base. Inside it is a tiny figurine of a carriage, pulled by two white horses over a cobblestone street. Smiling to himself, he picks it up and swirls it upside down, watching the flurry of snow, flecked with bits of glitter. It’s perfect.

He pays for it, handing the woman a little extra. Then, before he can get too nervous or start to question himself, he turns right around and holds it out to Keith. Keith eyes it, unsure, but Shiro nods until he takes it hesitantly, carefully, into his hands.

“It’s for you,” Shiro tells him simply, putting his hands in his pockets. Keith’s eyes are saucers when he looks up at him, and his cheeks immediately pinken as his lips fall open. He looks so, so beautiful in the soft glow of the market, and Shiro’s heart gives a hard thump.

“Oh,” he says, almost a whisper, turning the globe over in his hands. “Thank you.”

“Well, how sweet,” the woman whose hands made the gift says, pulling Shiro back out of the moment before he drowns in it. “You two make a lovely couple.”

Oh god. Keith blinks at her, alarmed, cheeks growing even darker, and Shiro struggles to find words, sure he’s blushing too. “Oh, we’re – uh, I mean, t – thank you,” he sputters, and before things can get any more awkward, he gives her a wave and a grin that probably comes out more as a grimace, and tries not to look nearly as embarrassed as he feels as he ushers Keith away.

Luckily, once the shock has worn off, the incident doesn’t seem to have dampened Keith’s happiness about the gift, which Shiro can’t help but feel a swell of pleasure and satisfaction at having caused.

After a little more wandering, Keith slips away on his own for a few minutes while Shiro waits in line to buy a loaf of chocolate babka and maybe some cinnamon sugar soft pretzels at the busiest bakery stall there, because Keith insists that means it’s worth it. When they meet back up again, Keith’s got his hands behind his back, and he’s looking off to the side, not meeting Shiro’s eyes. Rather than ask what’s up, Shiro bribes him with a warm cinnamon pretzel, waving it in front of his face tantalizingly until he looks up. He brings one hand around to take it, but still keeps the other hidden, his demeanor uncharacteristically shy. Shiro just tilts his head in question, and Keith huffs like he’s frustrated, but not at Shiro, before he brings his other hand forward and thrusts it at him.

“Here,” he says, “this is for you.”

_Oh._ Shiro reaches out and takes the gift from Keith’s hand, staring down at it like it’s a precious artifact. It’s a nutcracker, about as tall as his hand is long. It’s well-made, and clearly hand painted with care. He notices the nutcracker is wearing a grey uniform, almost like the one Shiro wears, to match its slate eyes, and there’s a fluffy tuft of black hair peeking out from under its hat. He wonders if the similarities are intentional.

He wouldn’t have expected being given a gift by Keith would hit him so hard, but it does. Something wells up in his throat, making it hard for him to form words to respond for a moment. Is this how Keith felt when he gave him the snow globe? Probably not, since Keith isn’t in l – …well. He shakes the thought away, swallowing thickly around the lump blocking his throat.

“Thank you, Keith,” he says, earnestly. “I love it.”

Keith tears off a huge bite of his pretzel, but Shiro can see the smile hiding behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I grew up in the suburbs of Washington D.C. and the German armed forces command base nearby had this wonderful Christmas market every year that was my absolute favorite thing. Those bakery stalls, damn. I miss going to Christmas markets this year so I had to satisfy myself with writing about one instead - here's hoping next year we'll be able to have the real thing!


	8. The Seventh Day

Keith has a half-full duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s nervous.

It’s not that he’s not excited, too, but his stomach is rolling and he keeps shuffling back and forth on his feet in the hallway, hovering in front of Shiro’s door instead of knocking on it.

He was surprised when Shiro asked if he wanted to spend the night after their Christmas movie marathon, just throwing out the suggestion casually at lunch today like it wouldn’t send Keith into a spiral. Keith wasn’t sure how to respond to the offer – he wanted to say yes, of course, but he naturally started questioning himself, wondering what he could be doing wrong to make Shiro feel like he has to let Keith impose on him even more than he already does. Still, it’s hard to think of a reason Shiro would offer other than that he just…wanted to. At the end of the day, he could never turn down the opportunity either way.

Now, he’s faced with the reality that he’s going to be _sleeping over at Shiro’s place_. Like, asleep, in his pajamas, with Shiro sleeping in the same apartment. He’s gonna brush his teeth in Shiro’s sink. He’ll get to see what Shiro looks like when he first wakes up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Maybe he’ll make them breakfast? That seems like something Shiro would do.

It’s the backdrop of so many of his secret dreams, but having it like this, without having what he really wants is…Painful? Terrifying? Exciting, still? All of the above, probably. Which is why Keith is currently freaking the fuck out.

It’s a couple minutes past when Shiro was expecting him, now that he’s spent so long floundering. The absolute worst thing would be for Shiro to open the door on his own and see Keith there just lingering in front of his door like a complete weirdo, so he takes a deep, centering breath, prays that his internal turmoil isn’t too obvious, and knocks.

Shiro swings it open immediately; he must have been waiting inside the door – was he really that anxious for Keith to arrive? He ushers him in excitedly, taking his bag for him despite Keith’s protests that he doesn’t need to and hanging his coat in the hall closet.

There’s a nice setup in the living room already – plenty of blankets and extra pillows ready and waiting on the couch, the tree lit and sparkling, coffee table pulled up for them to prop their feet on. Keith takes a seat, waiting for Shiro, who comes from the kitchen bearing a huge bowl of caramel corn, which he happily drops in Keith’s lap before sitting down next to him.

“Now, are you ready for perhaps the most crucial part of your crash course on Christmas?”

“I feel like you’ve said that about every part…” Keith observes skeptically. “But yeah.”

“Good. Because you are sorely lacking in knowledge of the classic Christmas movies, and we’ve got to educate you. I’ve cued up all my favorites – which are the best, of course.” Shiro picks up the remote and navigates to what must be his first pick, something old-looking called ‘White Christmas.’

“How many are there…?” Keith asks, somewhat afraid of what he’s gotten himself into.

Shiro gives him a serious look. “As many as we can get through.” 

As the opening credits roll, Shiro makes himself comfortable, pulling a blanket over his legs and offering the other half to Keith, holding it up with a questioning look. The idea of sharing a blanket with Shiro feels more intimate, almost domestic, than Keith really feels prepared to process, but he nods anyway, lifting the bowl off his lap so Shiro can throw the blanket over him. He most certainly isn’t prepared for the way Shiro lays it carefully over his lap instead, adjusting it to make sure it’s covering all of his legs, basically just stopping short of tucking it in under him.

Keith can’t meet his eye, but he puts the popcorn down between them, nudging it towards Shiro so they can share.

For his part, Keith can’t really relax, snuggling back into the pillows and the soft couch the way Shiro is, but that’s to be expected. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable being close to Shiro, sharing some of his warmth. He just feels like he needs to keep some of his guard up, keep an eye on himself, so he doesn’t enjoy it too much and let it show just how badly he wants more. The hardest thing is, he’s pretty sure that if he _did_ accidentally let some of those feelings slip, Shiro wouldn’t hesitate to give it to him. Because Shiro’s so good. But he wouldn’t want to, not really, and Keith can’t do that to him, can’t ask for more than the too-much he asks for already.

The movie plays, and Keith watches, because he knows Shiro wants him to. There’s something nostalgic and timeless about the clearly old-fashioned film, the accents and clothes and vivid technicolor. The music is cheerful, brassy and jaunty, and the characters are always breaking into intricate dance numbers. He has to admit it’s kind of charming, and undeniably Christmassy. He sneaks glances at Shiro to see the way he’s smiling, eyes lit up at one of his favorite films with a heaping handful of caramel corn held in front of his face.

The second movie, Shiro tells him as he gets it set up, was his absolute favorite as a kid, and it’s basically a Christmas staple. It musts be stop motion, because the characters are little felt figures that Keith frankly finds a little frightening. Shiro seems to love it, though, and the image of a young Shiro sitting cross-legged on the floor up in front of the TV in his family home, glued to the screen, is adorable enough that he’s kind of enjoying it by extension.

Over the course of the movie, Keith is sucked further into the couch, finding himself relaxing despite himself. By the end of it, he’s somehow migrated sideways, too, so that much of the space he put between himself and Shiro has evaporated, and their knees bump together when he shifts. Before he can get too tense over the realization, Shiro throws the blanket off his lap and moves to get up, running to the bathroom and refilling their popcorn supply in between movies.

In the interim, Keith has a chance to calm himself down, press his cold hands to his cheeks to try to reverse their reddening. It’s literally just sitting on the couch with a friend; what is wrong with him? He knows Shiro doesn’t mind; Shiro’s always been tactile, open with his affection – it’s just him that’s probably going to end up in an early grave because of it.

If there was some relief that Shiro got up and freed Keith of the job of figuring out how to subtly scoot back to his side of the couch, it is ruthlessly ripped away when Shiro returns and plops himself down even closer than before. He’s pressed right up against Keith now, leaving him no room with which to avoid losing his mind.

Like it’s nothing, he passes Keith the popcorn to hold while he gets resituated under the blanket, then flops back onto the couch, their shoulders and arms pressing together.

“Okay, fair warning, this one’s a tearjerker,” Shiro warns before starting “It’s a Wonderful Life,” but Keith barely hears him, too focused on the pounding of his heart in his chest, the way he can feel the movement of the muscles in Shiro’s arm as he points the remote.

It turns out Shiro’s warning was well warranted, though, which ends up working in Keith’s favor, because he’s drawn in enough by the emotion of the movie that he forgets, little by little, what he was freaking out about in the first place. It is comfortable, he has to admit, having Shiro’s sturdy form to lean against, soaking up his warmth. And Shiro doesn’t even seem to notice, fixated on the movie, and the popcorn he’s constantly munching on. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Keith just let himself relax into it, let it not be a big deal. Because it doesn’t have to be a big deal.

At the sentimental conclusion of the film, Shiro is sniffling openly beside him, and Keith would absolutely never admit it, but he’s getting a little choked up too.

“Jesus,” he says, “you weren’t kidding.” He hands Shiro a tissue, who takes it gratefully.

“That one always gets me.”

“I thought Christmas was supposed to be happy and lighthearted,” Keith says, a little accusing, still sensitive from the way that movie punched him in the heart.

“Well don’t worry; the next one’s about as cheesy as it gets,” Shiro assures. “Now, the humble hallmark movie is a Christmas staple. They’re stupid, and terrible, and wonderful, and this one’s my favorite.”

Keith settles in for another movie, blinking a little slowly now. It’s dark, and the lights in the living room are low and orange-tinted. Shiro wasn’t wrong – the movie is silly and cheesy to such an extent that it’s kind of enjoyable. Part of the plot needs a little explaining for Keith because apparently, there’s some strange Christmas tradition in which, if you find yourself underneath a hanging piece of mistletoe with someone else, you’re supposed to kiss them. Weird, but okay. In the film, one character comes up with a plan to figure out if the other character returns their feelings by setting up a scenario that puts them underneath some mistletoe together, to see if they go in for the kiss or deflect to a peck on the cheek. Sure, whatever.

It’s cute, but it’s also late, and Keith can’t help the yawns that are coming more frequently now, nor the way his eyelids are getting heavy. He’s not sure he’s going to make it to the end of this one, but he tells himself he’ll hold out a little longer before he asks Shiro if they can go to bed so he can stretch out on the couch and fall asleep.

As the movie rolls along, Keith finds himself sinking further and further into the couch, like gravity’s just pulling on him that bit harder now. He doesn’t want to fall asleep, but he’s so comfortable and warm, and Shiro’s presence right next to him, pressed against him knee-to-shoulder is so grounding, and he’s close enough that Keith can smell him, so nice and familiar and safe. He can feel his muscles start to relax, just melting into the couch, and maybe Shiro too, but he can’t bring himself to care, because his thoughts feel so slow and soft. Content, lulled by the soft background sounds of the movie and Shiro’s steady breathing, he lets himself slip into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the scene in It’s A Wonderful Life where George goes “What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down” because if that ain't Sheith...


	9. The Eighth Day

Shiro wakes with a bad crick in his neck.

It’s probably the happiest he’s ever woken up.

Last night, or maybe it was early this morning by that point, he watched and waited with baited breath as Keith slowly fell asleep slumped against him. He should have noticed he was getting tired; it was late after all, but he was too caught up in the movie until he felt Keith leaning on him and noticed his head lolling. Shiro had to bite his own lip hard to physically stop himself from making a noise when Keith, after slipping fully into sleep, adjusted to get more comfortable and let his head fall on Shiro’s shoulder. It was the cutest thing that has ever happened in the history of the universe, and Shiro honestly could almost cry at how sweet it was.

For the rest of the movie, he stayed frozen still, not daring to move a muscle for fear of waking Keith up. Aside from just wanting him to get some sleep, he knew if Keith woke up he would move away, and worse, would probably be embarrassed and try to apologize, which was the last thing Shiro wanted. If he could let Keith stay there forever, he would.

After the movie ended, Keith still hadn’t stirred, his weight only getting heavier against Shiro’s side and his cheek and nose getting squished adorably against his shoulder. Not wanting to wake Keith, he decided to just stay where he was and try to sleep sitting up on the couch, however much his body would hate him for that in the morning. Carefully, he pulled the blanket further up on Keith, tucking it over his shoulders so he wouldn’t get cold during the night, then pulled it up over himself, all with one arm, since Keith was pinning the other one. Shiro was able to relax a little, then, relish the feeling as much as he felt like he could allow himself.

Keith’s breathing was coming out softly, tickling the bare skin above his collar. He looked so peaceful, so comfortable and soft. It was such a sharp contrast from what the rest of the world often sees of Keith – but Shiro counts his lucky stars that he gets to see so much more.

It didn’t escape his notice that this was a huge display of trust on Keith’s part, that he felt safe and comfortable enough here with Shiro to let down his defenses in the most complete way, to fall asleep on his shoulder. It made him indescribably happy to see evidence that he’s been able to make Keith feel that way. He considers it a privilege and an honor to be let in in any small or big way.

Now, his whole body is protesting having slept the night in this position; his back and shoulders are aching and his arm is numb and he’s not sure his neck will ever be the same. But he doesn’t mind one bit. Keith’s snuggled closer in his sleep, turned more towards Shiro now and half on his chest. It takes all his self-control not to wrap his arms around him and hold him closer.

The challenge is going to be extricating himself from this situation – as much as he hates to, but his bladder is going to require it pretty soon – in the best way possible. He knows Keith will wake up when he moves, but he doesn’t want Keith to be embarrassed about sleeping on him, or think that Shiro was bothered by it. He decides the best approach is just to make as little of a deal of it as possible, brush the whole thing aside so Keith doesn’t have a chance to worry.

He really needs to go to the bathroom now, so, reluctantly, he curls a hand around Keith’s shoulder and squeezes, jostling him gently.

“Hey, Keith, it’s time to wake up,” he whispers, trying his best not to startle him.

Keith’s breathing changes as he wakes, face scrunching into a frown against the sunlight now filling the room. He makes an annoyed little sleepy grumble and pushes his face further into Shiro’s shoulder for a moment before he really comes into consciousness, lifting his head and blinking groggily at Shiro. He looks around for a moment, understandably disoriented, and Shiro can pick out the exact moment he really becomes aware of his surroundings, because his whole body goes rigid and his eyes widen.

Shiro intercepts the needless apology that’ll come at any moment by finally sitting up out of his position.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta pee,” he explains, keeping his attitude casual and flippant, like there’s nothing at all to remark upon about how they spent the night. “Be thinking about what you want for breakfast,” he instructs as he leaves, both to fill the silence and help keep Keith from overthinking and to make sure Keith knows he doesn’t want him to slip out as soon as he has the chance.

When he comes back, to his relief, Keith’s still sitting there on the couch, cross-legged and rumpled and unsure, but not a flight risk. Good.

“Soooo, what do you think? Pancakes? Bacon? Eggs? All three?”

Keith hesitates, chewing on his lip. “A-are you sure? I can get out of your hair…”

Shiro waves him off, won’t hear it. “I’m about to make a breakfast fit for Olympians and I can’t eat it all on my own. Feel free to use the shower if you want; I’ll just get started.”

Shiro whirls around in his kitchen taking out eggs and milk and orange juice and everything they could possibly need, and after a moment, he hears Keith slink out to the bathroom.

By the time Keith comes back out, hair damp and fluffed from toweling it dry and looking a bit more alive, Shiro’s got both bacon and sausage sizzling on the stove, pancake batter ready to cook, and eggs standing by.

“How do you like your eggs?” Shiro asks him, because he doesn’t actually know.

Keith shrugs. “Usually however they’re serving them in the cafeteria. I’ll just take mine the way you like them.”

Shiro drops four healthy dollops of pancake batter on the griddle Matt got him last Christmas, then turns around to get a frying pan heating up on the stove for the eggs. It’s a coordinated dance, and Keith watches, seeming impressed.

“Can I help with anything?” he asks.

“You can pour drinks,” Shiro suggests, nodding towards the orange juice and milk he pulled out. “I’ll have orange juice. Hey, do you want chocolate chips in your pancakes?”

That gets a small smile. “What is this, breakfast or dessert?”

Shiro just shrugs.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll take chocolate chips.”

Shiro checks the meat while Keith reaches over him to grab glasses out of the cabinets. The bacon is crispy and the sausage is nicely browned, so he pulls them off onto a paper-towel covered plate to rest while everything else finishes up. Struck by a moment of inspiration, he fries the eggs in the leftover fat from the bacon and sausage, flipping them just as the pancakes finish up, and everything ends up somehow perfectly timed, piled onto two heaping plates.

He hands one off to Keith, who looks ravenous actually; maybe Shiro should be feeding him more often.

“What’s the plan for today?” Keith asks, barely decipherable through his mouth full of food.

Shiro thinks as he chews. “Hmm, well, I have a couple rounds I have to make, but not until later in the afternoon. And then our activity, which _no, I will not tell you what it is_ , is after dark. Lazy morning, then we can hit the gym?”

Keith looks up at the ‘we,’ probably thinking he would just go home after they finish breakfast. Shiro is, of course, happy to let Keith do whatever he wants, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t mind spending the day together, just isn’t sure if he’s really wanted.

“I could use some company,” Shiro adds, hoping it works.

Keith considers the proposal, then nods. “I’ll have to run back to get my gym clothes before we go, but yeah, sure.”

Their breakfast leaves them full and sated, and it’s about all they’re up for to drag themselves over to the couch and collapse onto it, basking sleepily in the warm sunlight. Keith plops himself well away from Shiro, he notices, but that’s fine.

Once they digest, they head to the gym to make up for some of the food they just gorged on. They work in some sparring, too, and Shiro is once again impressed at how quickly Keith’s fighting skills are improving. Maybe that’s what he’s been doing with his days when he’s not with Shiro.

After, Shiro convinces Keith to come with him to a local sandwich shop for lunch instead of the cafeteria. They take Shiro’s bike, and he really didn’t have any ulterior motives with this suggestion but it’s nice to feel Keith’s chest against his back, his hands holding onto his sides tentatively. It’s busy inside the popular shop, so once they have their sandwiches they walk around with them, eating and talking and watching the world go by.

Glancing at his watch, Shiro realizes they’ve been out longer than he thought, and they’ve got to head back now if he’s going to report on time for his shift. Keith holds on a little tighter on the way back.

By the time Shiro’s work is over, it’ll be just about time for tonight’s Christmas activity, so before he and Keith part ways, he hands him a spare key and tells him to meet him there when he gets back at 7. It would probably make just as much sense to have him wait in the hallway as usual, but he doesn’t like the idea of Keith having to wait out there for him if he’s late, and besides, he wants Keith to feel free to spend time there, to come and go as he pleases.

Work is boring, and uneventful, and long, but once Shiro’s set free and walking briskly home, his footsteps are light with excitement. It’s a crisp, clear night, distinctly Christmassy and perfect for what he’s got planned.

When he opens his apartment door, he’s greeted by the sight of Keith sitting on his couch, scrolling on his phone until he hears Shiro’s entrance and looks up with a smile. It’s an image he would kill to come home to every day. But once is better than nothing.

He sees that Keith brought plenty of warm clothes in preparation, which is good, because they’re going to need to bundle up.

“I’m ready if you are,” he says, and Keith nods, pulling on his jacket and gloves before they head out.

This activity requires travel again, so Shiro gets on his motorcycle and hands Keith a helmet, waiting for him to get on behind him. He’s warm against his back, but probably not for long; motorcycle isn’t exactly the most weatherproof form of travel. It isn’t far to the local botanical garden where they’re headed, luckily.

A few minutes later, they pull up past the entry gates of the garden, which are wrapped in lights – the first of many, to the parking lot.

“There’s this ‘Winter Walk of Lights’ here every year; they set up tons of lights all over the garden and you walk through it,” Shiro explains as they get off the bike, leaving their helmets behind and heading towards the arching gates.

At the entrance, they can see the winding pathway adorned with sparkling lights all over stretching out ahead of them.

“Oh, wow,” Keith breathes, starting forward like he’s drawn in by it.

Shiro follows, watching eagerly the way Keith looks around, taking it all in, his eyes wide and reflecting the lights.

“This is…cool,” Keith murmurs, which makes Shiro chuckle, wishing he could walk up beside him and put an arm around his shoulder.

The garden is pretty empty right now, which is unusual, but it lets them make their way through the walk unhindered and uninterrupted, strolling down the path at their own pace. It’s pretty magical, at least Shiro thinks so. And, he’s glad to see, Keith seems to think so too. It would be a lie to pretend he isn’t just as entranced by Keith as the lights right now; he’s undeniably beautiful under the colorful lights, and watching him enjoy something makes him even more lovely. Once again, he finds himself thankful to be allowed to see it.

Shiro’s so caught up in the lights and Keith that it takes him a while to notice that Keith is clutching his coat closer around him, scrunching his shoulders up towards his ears.

“Are you cold?” he asks, abruptly breaking the silence they’ve fallen into unintentionally. They’ve been out here for a while, now, and the temperature is only dropping as it gets later.

Keith shrugs, not wanting to admit to it but apparently also cold enough that he can’t outright lie. Immediately, Shiro starts unwinding his scarf from his own neck – he’s fine, has his bulk to keep him warm, anyway, and Keith didn’t bring one.

Before Keith can protest, although he looks like he’s getting ready to start, Shiro loops the scarf over behind his head, effectively trapping him so Shiro can wrap it snugly around his neck. Keith glares, but there’s no heat behind it, and it quickly melts away as he feels the warmth of the scarf. Satisfied that Keith is adequately taken care of now, Shiro wiggles his hands into his pockets and continues on down the path.

By the time they get back to the Garrison, it’s late enough, and outside is cold and unappealing enough, that Keith is convinced to stay at Shiro’s for another night rather than brave the cold to walk back to his own room.

Before they go to sleep, even though it’s late and they’re both exhausted, Keith, for whatever reason, rustles through Shiro’s kitchen cabinets. Once he’s determined Shiro has the ingredients, he tells him he’s making them his top-secret, world-famous hot chocolate recipe, which he promises again will be the best hot chocolate Shiro’s ever tasted. It is, and he tells him as much. Keith never ceases to surprise him.

When he finally says goodnight, his heart is full, but threatening to burst.


	10. The Ninth Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, the bit of angst is arriving - but it will be very short lived, I promise!

“You don’t have to come with me for this,” Shiro starts the next morning over more pancakes and eggs, “and we can do a different Christmas activity today. But every year around the holidays, I like to go volunteer at the food bank in town; they serve holiday meals and have an even bigger need for help than usual at this time of year.”

Of course. Of course Shiro, the light of goodness and kindness and care for others that he is, would make volunteering to serve others a key part of his favorite holiday traditions.

“I’d love to come,” he says, and he means it – Shiro or not, it’s a great idea, and he can’t believe he never thought of doing something like that to fill his time in his past breaks when he was alone and bored.

They walk to the food bank instead of taking Shiro’s motorcycle, because he’s also bringing a couple boxes of nonperishable food items to donate, which would be hard to negotiate on the bike. It’s a pleasant walk, though, not too far, and the day is nice, cold but not as bone-chilling as last night, especially with the bright winter sun. It also gives Keith time to think.

He’s still embarrassed about the other night, when he fell asleep on Shiro’s shoulder – just the thought of it makes his cheeks heat, and he’s sure they’re beet red. He supposes he’s lucky he didn’t do anything even more incriminating. Still, he can’t bring himself to _entirely_ regret it. It did feel really, really good to fall asleep like that. He slept more soundly than he really can remember ever sleeping. And it was so sweet that Shiro didn’t move, just slept like that in what must have been an incredibly uncomfortable position, so he didn’t wake Keith up. The memory makes something flutter in his chest.

He glances over to Shiro, who’s got his head tilted up slightly, eyelids lowered and smiling into the sunshine on his skin. A friendship with this man is more than he ever though he’d get to have in life.

It’s not even Christmas yet, and this is already by far the best holiday Keith’s ever had, all thanks to Shiro’s relentless dedication to making sure that happens. It’s overwhelming, honestly, having that kind of positive attention and care; it’s not something he’s used to, or really knows what to do with. Though he’s been learning, ever since Shiro decided to take on the project two years ago. As the days go on, though, he can’t help but to increasingly wonder _why_.

Why did Shiro see an angry, sarcastic orphan and decide to befriend him, despite Keith’s best efforts initially to push the friendship away? Why did he want to be a part of Keith’s life, to spend time with him and get to know him and help him learn the things he struggles to understand about the world, about people? Was it because that’s just who Shiro is; he just sees people in need and does whatever he can to help?

Keith doesn’t hate himself; he knows he has value, but he knows he’s difficult, too. Shiro’s seen potential in him as a pilot, he knows that, and it’s potential he believes he can live up to. But Shiro’s interest in him as a person feels like it goes beyond that. Keith’s not someone you just fall into friendship with, and Shiro had actively tried, for weeks, to befriend him, just because he could tell Keith needed it. He’s gotten to the point where he’s accepted that friendship for what it is, trusts that Shiro isn’t lying or trying to trick him or just feeling sorry for him. He’s pretty sure, at least by now, that Shiro genuinely enjoys spending time with him, isn’t doing it purely out of charity. They get along well; Keith makes Shiro laugh, and vice versa. And while Shiro takes care of him all the time, Keith knows him well enough now that sometimes, he feels like he can return the favor.

But none of that explains why he’s going to all this trouble to give him the perfect Christmas, to very intentionally replace some of his painful past with happy memories. Why he lets Keith fall asleep on his shoulder and doesn’t move a muscle all night. Why he bought him a snow globe with a perfect little carriage.

His rumination is interrupted when they arrive at the soup food bank, swept straight into aprons and hairnets and gloves. Shiro looks hilarious, front tuft of hair refusing to be captured and sticking out wildly from the front of the net. He must look just as dumb, based on the snorting laugh Shiro tries and fails to contain when he looks at him. They get straight to work, serving food to an endless line of people, wishing them a happy holiday, getting well wishes in return. It distracts him, and honestly, it feels really good. Keith may not really _get_ people a lot of the time, but reaching out, helping in such a concrete, unambiguous way – this is something he can do.

Shiro’s all smiles at his side, of course, radiating warmth and holiday cheer and making everyone he talks to feel a little brighter, a little touched. Keith realizes, over the course of the few hours they spend there, that Shiro knows – and is known – by _everyone_ here. Other volunteers greet him by name, employees of the food bank come by to pat him on the shoulder and thank him for coming, inquire as to how he’s been doing. Shiro must not have been kidding about coming every year. He probably comes more often than he let on.

It sinks in, then. Shiro really is this good. Good enough to make everyone around him smile. Good enough to make it his mission to make a friend, a sometimes snappy, often stubborn, hurt, fragile friend happy during a time he, for so many years, _really_ hasn’t been.

Keith wishes, with every fiber of his being, that what Shiro felt for him was more than friendship, and perhaps some misplaced sense of responsibility. But he knows his stupid, years-long, unrequited crush is just that. It’s not a crush, though, not really. Not anymore. Keith doesn’t like to think about it, to admit it even to himself, but it’s obvious, there nestled just barely underneath the surface.

Shiro is the best person he’s ever known. That much has always been true. Probably always will be. He’s a shining light, one that casts everyone around him in a golden glow instead of a shadow.

It’s not just things like this, or the way he treats Keith. He’s kind and thoughtful and _good_ to _everyone_ – Keith sees it, sees the way he encourages the other cadets, speaks out when he sees anything wrong, goes out of his way to make random people’s days just a little bit better. Keith doesn’t know where he gets it, all that desire and drive and energy to enact his kindness and compassion wherever he goes. But Keith loves it. He loves him. He loves him so much it feels like something in his chest is going to tear, sometimes.

He wants them to belong to each other, to take care of each other, so Shiro doesn’t go off on some mission without him, doesn’t move on – so Keith doesn’t _lose_ him. Because he can’t take losing him.

But because of just that, because of the way Shiro is – the goodness that made Keith love him in the first place – he knows that whatever friendship, compassion, affection Shiro feels for him ends there. It’s just who Shiro is. And there’s so much that Shiro gives him already. Keith should be happy with it. He _wants_ to be happy with it. He shouldn’t ask him for more.

It’s something he’s known all along, but lately, over these past magical few days, maybe he’s accidentally allowed himself to start to hope. It makes it harder when reality forces its way back through the door.

When they leave, Keith’s a little reticent, walks back to the Garrison with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes glued to the sidewalk, talking, but sparingly, with his heart not really in it. He knows Shiro can tell something’s off, knows he’s wondering what it is and wants to help – but he doesn’t ask, because Shiro knows that’s not what he needs right now. And, of course, he respects that. He always does. Keith should say something, try harder to seem fine, try to pass it off as being tired, even though he knows Shiro would see through all of it, just to try to ease Shiro’s mind.

He gets out a promise to see Shiro tomorrow, gives him the best smile he can muster, and goes back to his own dorm, even though all his stuff’s still in his duffle back at Shiro’s. It would just be too much tonight. And even though he knows it’s melodramatic and embarrassing and stupid, when he crawls into his bed in not-his-favorite-pajamas after brushing his teeth with some water and his finger, Keith's eyes are wet as he falls asleep. 


	11. The Tenth Day

It’s strange, how quickly you can adjust sometimes to having something you want so deeply.

It shouldn’t feel wrong for Shiro’s apartment to be empty, not when it’s been empty the whole damn time he’s lived in it aside from two wonderful days and nights, when it was occupied by a mess of black hair and a quirked smile.

Now, he feels his absence more strongly than he should. There’s no one to make breakfast for, so he just stays in bed, moping, worrying.

Shiro isn’t sure what went wrong yesterday – Keith was obviously upset when they left the food bank, and while he knows it’s entirely plausible it was about something that had nothing to do with him, he’s still been wracking his brain for something he could have done, something that could explain it. He went back to his own room without even grabbing his stuff, which makes Shiro worry that maybe having him over two nights in a row was too much, that he pushed too far and made Keith feel like he had to retreat.

Whatever it is, it always preoccupies Shiro to know Keith’s unhappy, and so he spends the morning with a background haze of anxiety.

It’s lifted somewhat when he receives a text from Keith late in the morning, one that sounds cheerful enough, although it’s much easier to hide through a wall of text.

_Good morning!_ He says, which makes Shiro smile. _What time do you want me over today?_

_Right now, immediately, and while you’re at it never leave,_ Shiro thinks, but instead he texts, _Whenever you want! I have to go out and do a little final shopping for our activity tonight, but you’ve got a key._

Shiro drops his phone back on his mattress with a thump and a sigh, staring up at his bedroom ceiling. He wishes he knew what Keith was thinking.

As if summoned, Shiro’s startled by the sound of his front door opening (did he forget to lock it last night?), which announces the arrival of Matt, just strolling on into Shiro’s bedroom and stopping in his doorway, putting his hands on his hips.

“What the fuck, Shiro.”

Shiro blinks at him, innocently, from where he is still very much lying in bed – he glances at the clock on his bedside table – …ten minutes past when he and Matt were supposed to leave for the store.

Matt looks him over, shaking his head. “Still in bed, and at this hour…” he clucks his tongue. “Alright, big guy – trouble in paradise?” he guesses.

Shiro starts with a glare, really just _not_ in the mood for the teasing today, but after a moment it falters, and he just covers his face with his hands and groans.

“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles into his palms. Matt drops his backpack to the ground with a loud clang – what does he _have_ in there? – and comes fully into Shiro’s room, sitting against the edge of his bed.

“Do about…?” he prompts.

Shiro huffs. “About my _feelings_.”

Matt hums and purses his lips, nodding. “Alright. Go on.”

Shiro thumps his hands back on the mattress and shoots a look over at Matt because is he really just going to make him spell it out?

“Ugh,” he groans. “I just…Keith.”

“Uh huh,” Matt says like that was obvious.

“The other day, when we had our Christmas movie marathon, he fell asleep on my shoulder, and oh my god, it was the cutest thing that’s ever happened, Matt, and I can’t handle it.”

“Awww,” Matt coos, and he actually kind of doesn’t sound sarcastic.

“And I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep acting casual, pretend I’m not losing my mind every time I’m with him. And yesterday, something upset him, and I don’t know what happened, and I’m stressing the fuck out—”

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Matt interrupts. “It sounds like we’ve got two problems going on here. Let’s start with the first one. Elaborate.”

Shiro scowls at his ceiling. He hesitates. Well, he’s gone this far already. Might as well. He lets out a long breath before he continues, softer than before, more vulnerable.

“I…I just admire him so much. He’s so smart and driven and strong and resilient. And he’s funny, and I l – like being around him, so much, and he’s a really good person, behind the spikes. And it hurts when he’s sad, and it feels amazing when he’s happy, and I want to protect him, and be there for him, and support him, always. I want to give him whatever he wants.”

Matt lets all that hang for a moment in the air, lets them process it.

“And you’re afraid Keith will realize you’re in love with him?” he asks.

Shiro wants to protest, like he usually does, but he can’t bring himself to this time. There’s no use in pretending anymore, really. So he nods.

There’s a hidden addition of _why?_ in Matt’s question, which Shiro ponders. He knows he has an answer, but it’s hard to express to someone else.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m afraid he’ll figure it out and it’ll scare him away, or even just make him uncomfortable, change things between us. And I don’t want that. I want to keep being there for him, in whatever way he needs. And he needs…he needs a friend.” _Not someone stupidly infatuated with him,_ goes unsaid.

Matt hums and nods, considers what he’s said. When he speaks again, it’s much more slowly than he usually does; it’s clear he’s choosing his words carefully. “So you think that, if Keith doesn’t return your feelings, knowing how you feel will spook him. But what if he does?”

Shiro frowns, shaking his head slightly. That’s just not a plausible scenario. “He doesn’t,” he says, almost too quiet to hear. Shiro knows Keith cares about him, feels affection for him; he’s not blind. But there’s no reason to believe it’s anything more than that. It’s so hard for Keith to let people in, and he’s allowed Shiro in so much already – it would be selfish to ask for more. He’s grateful for what he has, truly. And he doesn’t want Keith to feel like it’s not enough.

Besides, Keith’s not someone who can be tied down. However much Shiro wishes to have him, keeping Keith would be like trying to catch the wind in a butterfly net.

“Alright,” Matt says, though he sounds a little reluctant, like he’s holding himself back from saying more. “And as for the other problem – I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” He shrugs. “You know Keith. He’s gonna be happy tonight, anyway; you’ll make sure of it.”

Shiro nods, not totally convinced, but the text from this morning was a good sign, and Matt’s right – he’ll do everything within his power to put a smile back on Keith’s face tonight.

“Speaking of that, it’s high time you got your ass out of bed so we can shop. Hop hop!” Matt claps at Shiro and pulls the covers off of him until he’s forced to get up, groaning and grumbling. He drags himself to his wardrobe to find some comfy, I-don’t-want-to-be-dressed clothes and soon enough he’s climbing into Matt’s truck, shivering.

It’s snowing again today; a blanket formed over the ground while he was moping, and it’s all the better for the activity tonight, anyway.

It’s Christmas Eve eve, which in Shiro’s book is the perfect time for a little Christmas party. Whether or not you can technically have a “party” with two people is up for debate, but he’s sticking with it either way.

He and Matt grab a cart and roll through the aisles, picking up a few remaining party essentials, plus some things he really doesn’t need but that look appealing sitting on the shelves and he’s running low on impulse control right now.

He recruited Matt’s help big time on this one, because as much as he hates to admit it, Matt has party planning down pat. He trusts Matt’s judgement and goes along with whatever he says they need for this – plus a couple must-have additions of his own. He’s planning on making eggnog from scratch, which is maybe a little ambitious, but Shiro believes in himself. There’s a moment when he pauses and wonders to himself if alcohol is a good idea tonight, considering how many feelings have been swirling around in him – but you can’t have a good party without booze.

As payment for his help, Matt requires to be taken out to lunch afterwards, so they head to his favorite diner with the truck bed filled with bags and warm themselves on grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

By the time they get back to Shiro’s place, it’s been a couple hours, and when Shiro struggles to get the bags in one hand and tries the door, it’s already unlocked.

He’s pretty much overjoyed to see that Keith is here, that he actually took him up on his offer and came over early, let himself in. He wasn’t expecting it at all, but it immediately puts a smile on his face and fills his chest with warmth.

“Hey!” he greets, a little out of breath from carrying their purchases and trying to maneuver himself through the door.

Keith gets up off the couch and rushes over to take some of the bags and help him carry them in, nodding to Matt, who shuffles in behind. Keith smiles at Shiro, and it meets his eyes, and Shiro lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

A lot of what they got constitutes snacks (“hors d’oeuvres,” Matt corrects, “it’s classier.”) and ingredients for the eggnog, so Keith and Shiro unpack the groceries to put them away while Matt takes out the extra decorations and sets out on decking out Shiro’s apartment even more than it already is.

Shiro notices that Keith knows where everything goes in his kitchen, and it does something funny to his chest.

“What’s this stuff for?” Keith asks, nodding to the heavy cream and bourbon.

“Oh, uh, I’m making eggnog,” Shiro explains, suddenly a little embarrassed that he’s putting so much effort into this, for some reason.

Keith smirks, almost to himself, and rolls his eyes fondly. “Of course.”

“Alright,” Matt says, coming over and wiping his hands on his jeans, which have glitter kind of all over them now, “I’m gonna roll out now. Shiro,” he points at him, then claps him on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas man, if I don’t see you. And Keith,” Matt digs around in his pocket for a second, then pulls out something small and red, holds it out to Keith, “I probably won’t see you, so merry Christmas.”

It’s a little ornament, a rocketship, upon further inspection. Keith takes it carefully, blinks at it. Then a smile spreads on his face, and he gives a little chuckle.

“Thanks, Matt,” he says, a little softly.

Matt gives them a salute, and then he’s gone.

“You can just hang out and watch while I make the eggnog,” Shiro offers. Keith nods, still smiling down at his present. Shiro’s heart swells at the sight, and he’ll have to make sure to be extra nice to Matt in thanks.

As Shiro pulls up the recipe and figures out what he needs to get out, Keith wanders over to the tree and hangs his gift, stepping back to look at it with his head cocked before he comes back.

“Okay,” Shiro starts once he has his ingredients and utensils laid out. “I’ve never done this before, so…let’s hope it works out.”

Keith sits on one of the stools next to the kitchen counter and situates himself so that he can watch, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. He looks a little cold, so Shiro goes over under the guise of turning on some music and turns the heat up. It’s only then that he realizes he’s still wearing the sweats he pulled on last minute when they left, which he’s a little embarrassed to be caught in in front of Keith – it’s less put together than he usually likes to be, but hey, he’s comfy.

“Let me know if you need help,” Keith says, yawning a little. Shiro eyes him, wondering if he should suggest he just go take a nap while he does this. He hopes he got enough sleep last night.

“I’m sorry I was a downer yesterday, after the food bank,” Keith pipes up suddenly, out of nowhere. Shiro freezes, surprised, because he didn’t think Keith was going to want to talk about it. “Everything’s fine,” he adds, like he knows Shiro needs the reassurance.

“Oh,” Shiro supplies dumbly, still caught off guard. “Well, let me know if you want to talk about it.”

Keith nods, gives him a small smile, which Shiro takes gladly.

The eggnog making goes…okay. There’s a lot of beating involved, and specks of egg and sugar end up all over the kitchen. At one point he has to beat egg whites into stiff peaks, and he has to get Keith to google that to figure out what the hell it means, and help him by pouring in the sugar while he’s still beating. The accuracy of his methodology is uncertain, but the final product has booze and cream and sugar, so it’s bound to at least be drinkable.

Maybe they should hold off on the eggnog until the party is more in swing, but it’s there, and it’s just the two of them, so they pour themselves two glasses while taking out all the food. It actually tastes pretty good, Shiro’s pleased to discover, which might be dangerous. The recipe made a lot.

They’ve got a pretty good spread once everything’s laid out on the kitchen counter, some spilling onto the table as well. It’s more than two people need, but he’s pretty sure they’ll manage it.

“Oh, _nice_ ,” Keith comments as he surveys their options. “Can’t wait to stuff my face.”

Shiro snorts, throwing away some of the leftover packaging and cleaning up a bit from the eggnog-making. “By my guest,” he says, “it’s there to eat.” When he turns around, Keith’s frozen with a mini quiche already halfway in his mouth, another waiting in his other hand. He just shrugs, only barely guilty.

With that, their “party” is off.

“Normally, there would be more people at a Christmas party,” Shiro explains with his mouth full of deviled egg, “and you mill around and small talk and stuff. But I figured you’d hate that.”

Keith’s scrunching up his face in displeasure and shaking his head at the mere idea of that, so it appears he was correct. “Uck, god no.”

Shiro glances at Keith’s glass of eggnog to see that it’s already almost empty. It’s possible he’s slightly tipsy.

Well, maybe this is what both of them need. Just a night of drunkenness and revelry where Shiro can forget his worries, and Keith can let loose and let his guard down, just relax.

And that’s exactly what happens. Maybe too much.

Keith finishes his eggnog, and another one, and Shiro catches up quickly, but Keith’s always been more of a lightweight. At some point, Shiro turns off the lights in the apartment, so it’s lit only by the tree and the Christmas lights he has strung around, which suits the party mood much better, in his opinion.

Halfway into his third eggnog, Keith leans in, even though the Christmas music isn’t _that_ loud, and asks Shiro if they can change it to something a little more…party-able. Shiro couldn’t, wouldn’t have refused him anyway, but with the big, blinking eyes that Shiro’s not sure he even knows he’s putting on, it would be impossible. They switch to some playlist Keith likes, as he hangs over Shiro’s shoulder, pointing at his phone and instructing him what to play.

The bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels on the kitchen table is calling to him, and Shiro goes to it willingly, just kind of standing there and munching, alternating between sips of eggnog. It’s warm and cozy in here – he should light a fire in the fireplace! Or, no, maybe not; safety and all.

Shiro’s starting to get a little drunk, too, he notices as he finishes the last dregs of his third – is it his third? – drink. But Keith’s swaying – or is that dancing? – in the middle of his living room, eggnog clutched in his hand precariously. Yeah, Shiro’s pretty sure he’s dancing. He’s definitely drunk, now. Drunk enough that when he catches Shiro’s eye next, he bursts into a big, dopey grin and throws his arms up in the air.

“Shiro!” he cries, “This is so fun! Thank y—”

He starts to stumble over to Shiro, kind of running, and trips a little over a spot where the rug’s been rucked up. Shiro sees him falter and wobble, and, drunk or not, he’s there in an instant to steady him, images of Keith falling and hurting himself, even just a little bit, racing through his head.

“Whoa,” Keith comments, but he doesn’t seem to be getting his balance back even as Shiro rights him, pulling him up by the upper arms. He doesn’t really have any choice but to hold him tighter, and Keith takes one step, trying to get his feet under him, but ends up falling forwards into Shiro’s arms, slumped against his chest. This works better than trying to get Keith stable on his own two feet, Shiro reasons, so he just kind of keeps him there, lets Keith lean against him so he doesn’t have to stand.

“Be careful,” he admonishes gently, a little breathless.

Keith looks up at him with wide, shining eyes and Shiro’s breath catches.

“You saved me,” he whispers with awe.

“Well, I wouldn’t-“ Shiro sputters, but Keith gasps.

“Shiro.” Keith’s not making any attempts to move, and Shiro’s just stuck there with his arms around him, holding him up. Keith’s hands have migrated to his shoulders – he really hopes that eggnog somehow doesn’t spill all over him. “Shiro,” he says again, and his voice is a little cracked, a little raw in a way that alarms Shiro, because oh god, if he cries Shiro doesn’t know how he’ll cope. “You – you’re so _good_.” Keith says it like it almost hurts. If Shiro’s cheeks weren’t flushed from the alcohol, they certainly are now.

“I – I’m not,” he tries to protest, but Keith shakes his head vehemently, eyes sparkling.

“Yes you are, you’re amazing,” he insists.

Shiro can feel his warmth plastered all against his chest, something he’s never felt before. Keith hasn’t broken eye contact, hasn’t stopped staring at him like it’s the most important thing in the world. Shiro’s mouth is dry.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” Keith murmurs, almost under his breath. Shiro wonders if he can feel his heart pounding. There’s a lump the size of Kerberos in his throat. Keith’s expression changes, his face twists into a sorrowful frown. “I wish I could keep you,” he whispers.

The room freezes, and Shiro’s heart skips several beats. He wants to ask Keith what he means, but Keith’s gaze is unfocused now, and he’s blinking heavily. With a little noise of complaint, he buries his face in Shiro’s shoulder and after a moment, slumps even further as his breathing slows.

Did Keith just…fall asleep in his arms, standing up?

Shit. Shiro’s suddenly struck with a dilemma, because obviously he needs to put Keith to sleep, but it seems wrong to put him on the couch when he’s all drunk and certain to be hungover in the morning. He also worries, though, that Keith would be uncomfortable with being in Shiro’s bed. He hovers for a minute, looking back and forth between the couch and his open bedroom door, because Keith might be small relative to him but he’s not a bag of feathers and he needs to make a decision soon. Also, Shiro’s definitely drunk now.

Putting Keith in this vulnerable state on the lumpy, uncomfortable couch just seems too wrong, so Shiro decides on the bed, and resolves to sleep on the couch himself since he doesn’t know if Keith would be okay with sharing, and can’t ask.

It’s not easy, figuring out how to get Keith over there – apparently his light sleeping doesn’t apply when he’s this drunk, because he’s out like a light and a total dead weight in Shiro’s arms, despite all his jostling and maneuvering. Eventually, he ends up just picking Keith up and carrying him to his room, putting him down on the bed as softly as he can manage. Damn, that was more tiring than it should have been.

Shiro pulls the duvet up over Keith and tucks it under his chin. He goes back to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water, gets out two aspirins and sets them next to the glass on his bedside table. He takes a moment to stand beside the bed, watching Keith breath softly, cheeks pink from the alcohol. He looks peaceful, and Shiro doesn’t think he has to worry about him getting sick.

If it were any other time, and Shiro wasn’t drunk and suddenly completely drained, emotionally and otherwise, after whatever just happened, he would probably be able to appreciate the sight of Keith in his bed more. But right now, there’s too much swirling around in his hazy mind, and that memory will have to be filed away for later.

Limbs heavy, Shiro drags himself out of his room, and a thought pops up in the back of his mind that he’s happy he was wearing sweats today, because there’s no way he’s changing out of his clothes before he collapses onto the couch. That eggnog is really a killer.

His heart is still thumping in his chest from what Keith said before he fell asleep. He doesn’t know how to interpret it, and doesn’t really even have the capacity to try right now. But he swears to himself he’ll remember in the morning – he’s not _that_ drunk – and, despite everything, despite the fear and spinning confusion and the adrenaline pumping through his veins, it feels like a little seed of hope has sprouted in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally I'm a big fan of non-alcoholic eggnog, but for an alcoholic recipe I endorse Alton Brown's: https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/eggnog-recipe-1956960
> 
> Also in my flurry of christmas-cookie-baking I made these fantastic eggnog snickerdoodles: https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1021715-eggnog-snickerdoodles. The recipe's behind a paywall but if anyone wants it I will gladly say fuck the rules and get it to you because christmas cookies are a public necessity


	12. Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve! Hope you enjoy this chapter; it's been a long time coming :)

Keith wakes up with a splitting heading and a creeping sense of horror that he has nothing to attach to. Not at first.

He feels _rough_ , and that’s surprising, since he doesn’t think he got _that_ drunk last night. He knows he didn’t throw up, doesn’t taste it on his dry tongue. Last thing he remembers, he was feeling pretty good, definitely drunk, and getting a little sleepy, but not about to black out or anything.

Keith’s been doing his ruminating with his eyes squeezed shut, because the threat of light makes his head hurt already, but when he does dare to squint them open slightly, he groans thankfully at the sight of a full glass of water and two aspirins sitting in front of him.

It isn’t until he’s taken the pills and chugged half the water that it hits him that he’s _in Shiro’s bed_.

He sits up like a bolt, heart racing suddenly, because he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing here. Apprehensively, he turns to look behind him, relieved to find that the other side of the bed is empty. He doesn’t know what it is he’s not remembering, but as he forces himself to calm down, the setup points towards him falling asleep here, or somewhere else and being brought here…that sounds like something Shiro would do.

Keith sighs and rubs his face, hunched over on the bed. He remembers having fun, at least. And that eggnog was _good_. Apparently too good. As he takes another drink of water, he remembers asking Shiro to change the music – yeah he was pretty drunk – and oh, god, was there dancing? There might have been dancing. Keith physically cringes.

Feeling a bit more alive, now that he’s had meds and fluids and time to adjust to not being asleep or drunk, Keith decides to try to make the trek to the bathroom. It’s a little precarious getting up initially, and he wobbles a bit and has to steady himself on the table, but after the initial rush he’s okay. In the bathroom, he stares at himself in the mirror. He looks like a mess, but his eyes are bright.

Keith pads into the living room to find his duffle bag, grab some fresh clothes to change into, and he finds Shiro, asleep on the couch. It’s almost comical, the way he’s curled up in the too-small space. Keith doesn’t think he’s actually ever seen Shiro asleep before; he’s always awake before him. He permits himself a lingering look and fond smile, only because there’s no one there to see.

It looks pretty uncomfortable, and Keith realizes he must be sleeping here so Keith could sleep on the bed. It’s painfully sweet, and classically Shiro, because Shiro is always looking out for others first.

That’s when it comes back to him.

Running at Shiro, stumbling, Shiro catching him. Staying in his arms for what felt like forever. Telling him…

It wasn’t a confession. Not quite. But shit, it was close.

_What if Shiro figured it out?_

This is bad. His heartrate seems to agree. But Shiro was drunk too. Maybe he doesn’t remember. Oh god, please let him not remember. Or at least not interpret it…that way. Maybe Keith can make some excuse, find another way to spin it. First things first, he needs to come up with a game plan.

But, because fate is not on his side, it’s at that moment that Shiro stirs in his sleep. He shifts a little, his nose twitches like something’s tickling it, and, after a moment during which Keith holds his breath, his eyelids flutter open.

Shiro yawns, blinking and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, while Keith just watches, frozen in place. With a grunt, Shiro lifts his head and pushes himself up on his elbows, squinting at the room until his eyes fall on Keith, who’s still just standing there staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“Keith?” he says, voice beautifully scratchy.

_Think fast,_ Keith tells himself, but his thoughts don’t cooperate. Their eyes are locked, and for a moment, something passes over Shiro’s face – it looks terrifyingly like remembering, like surprise – but just as soon, it’s gone.

He sits up all the way, shakes his head and gets his bearings a bit more, then looks at Keith again. He smiles, squinty and hungover and ruffled, with marks on his cheeks from the upholstery. It’s just his regular smile, the one that’s happy to see Keith, not one that’s sympathetic, pitying, anxiously trying to figure out how to let Keith down easy. Maybe he doesn’t remember?

Keith takes his first breath in a while.

“Mornin’” Shiro mumbles through a yawn. “Hope you’re not feeling too bad. Did you see the aspirin I left out for you?”

Keith nods dumbly. Shiro doesn’t comment on it.

“I did not expect us to go that hard last night,” Shiro laughs, shaking his head. “It was fun, though.”

“Yeah,” Keith finally manages to squeak out, coming down off the edge gradually. He clears his throat, tries to act more normal. If Shiro doesn’t remember, he’s not about to fuck this up by being all suspicious.

“Waffles for breakfast?” Shiro asks, and Keith has no problem nodding enthusiastically to that.

It takes a while for the two of them to get it together enough to actually cook, but eventually, they’re sitting across from each other at the kitchen table eating syrup-soaked waffles just like normal. Keith is getting more and more hopeful.

“Hey,” Shiro starts, looking down at his plate, “since it’s Christmas Eve, do you want to just spend the day, and stay over again tonight? That way we can celebrate the full holiday.”

Keith still kind of can’t believe Shiro keeps volunteering to have him around _more_ , but he’s never turning down that opportunity, and it does sound nice to have company for the whole time, so he nods.

“I have to run back to my room to get your gift, though,” he says, kind of shy about it, because he’s not sure if they’re supposed to be exchanging gifts, doesn’t know if Shiro got him something, but he had to get something for Shiro.

Shiro looks pleased, though, and he actually blushes a little, which is odd.

“Okay, cool, well I have to bribe Matt into taking me to the grocery store to get stuff for dinner, anyway, so maybe you can go while I’m doing that?”

They decided together that having takeout or a frozen meal or something for Christmas eve dinner was kind of sad, so they’re cooking – or at least attempting to. Ordering pizza is always a backup option. Hopefully having a task to focus on like that will help distract Keith from the lingering anxiety about his almost-confession. He agrees, and soon he’s walking back to his dorm across an empty campus.

“Matt Matt Matt Matt, I need to talk to you, this is a code red, I need advice – oh, also I need a ride to the grocery store, please?”

On the other end of the line, Matt just sighs. “Be there in five.”

Shiro’s pacing around his apartment when Matt barges in.

“Alright, what happened?”

“I’ll explain in the car; we should get going.”

“…and then he buried his face in my shoulder and fell asleep.”

There’s a moment of silence after Shiro concludes his breathless retelling of last night. Matt gives a long whistle, which is a pretty impressive reaction when it comes to Matt.

“Is Keith freaking out?” is his first question.

It’s a good question – and Shiro was worried he would be, at least if he remembered it himself. He definitely remembers; that much was clear from the frightened face that greeted him when he first woke up.

“Sort of? He was this morning when I woke up, but I think I’ve done a good enough job of acting normal that he doesn’t think I remember.”

Matt frowns at that, clicking on his turn signal. “So you’re just letting him go around thinking he confessed his love and you don’t remember?”

“He didn’t – it wasn’t a _confession_ ,” Shiro sputters, unable to handle something like that even being said out loud. “I don’t know _what_ it was.” And he doesn’t. It felt like…something, but…

As soon as they pull up to a red light, Matt takes the opportunity to turn and give him a thoroughly unimpressed look.

“No, really!” he insists. “What am I supposed to make of that?”

Matt shrugs. “I think you take what he said for what it is. He _told_ you how he feels about you. That seems pretty clear to me.”

Shiro slumps back in his seat, grumbling. It isn’t so clear to _him_. But despite his better instincts, Matt’s words put a little more weight behind the tiny, tentative whisper in his mind that maybe, _maybe_.

Grocery shopping goes quickly. They’re cooking lasagna. Hopefully having something to focus on will keep this at bay, this foolish hope that won’t be deterred from blooming in his chest.

The kitchen is cozy, warm from the oven that’s preheating and the radiating heat from the stove where the bolognese sauce has been cooking. They’ve been at this for a while – turns out making lasagna from scratch is a little labor-intensive for two people who aren’t exactly five star chefs – but Shiro doesn’t mind. There’s Christmas music playing softly from the living room, and all the lights are on, and Keith is with him. He’s a little quiet, but not unusually so, and it puts Shiro at ease. They’ve been having a fun time cooking, working together, making fun of each other’s knife skills. Keith tries to turn dicing onions into a competition, which is just ridiculous. Mostly because Keith wins.

It’s not the same as Christmas eve with his family, but he can’t say he’s enjoying it any less. Soon, there’ll be a yule log burning in the fireplace, like there always is at home – he saved the end of the Christmas tree that he sawed off before putting it up, which will be perfect.

They coordinate the assembly of the lasagna together, with Keith laying down the sheets of pasta in a perfect, precise layer before Shiro ladles the sauce on top and spreads it around, then they repeat. Shiro’s pretty sure this is going turn to out to be damn delicious, and maybe they are gourmet chefs after all. Once it’s finally in the oven, they both flop down on the couch, exhausted.

They’re silent next to each other, staring at the ceiling.

“What’s been your favorite of the Christmas activities?” Shiro asks, suddenly.

Keith hums, considering it. Shiro looks over and he’s narrowing his eyes at the ceiling, like he does when he encounters any hard problem. Shiro knows every one of Keith’s looks, has them imprinted somewhere, maybe etched onto the inside of his ribs. It’s a catalogue of knowledge he won’t forget easily.

“That’s hard,” Keith says. “I think maybe the Christmas market.” They both smile fondly at the memory. That’s another one Shiro isn’t going to forget. “I – I’ve had a really great time,” Keith starts again, his voice taking on that effortfully genuine tone. He turns his head to the side to look Shiro in the eye. “Thank you, Shiro. For doing this for me. It – it means more than you could ever know.”

_I want to know_ , Shiro wants to say. _I want to do everything for you. Please let me._

Instead, he smiles. Twists to face him and lays a hand on Keith’s shoulder, because he knows it’s a contact he’ll accept.

“You’re welcome. I’ve really enjoyed doing it. I…I hate it when you’re sad. I just want to make you happy.”

It’s the closest thing to the truth Shiro’s ever said to him, and it comes out of his mouth before he thinks. Keith’s eyes widen, his mouth parts a little. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, or upset. Shiro’s hand is still on his shoulder.

This moment is getting away from him, and if Shiro needs anything, it’s control, so he pulls away and stands from the couch.

Keith watches Shiro walk away and come back with…a log? He sets it down in front of his fireplace before starting a fire with some of the smaller wood that’s already in there, stoking it until it’s steady and strong.

Keith’s heart is still racing, trying to crawl its way up his throat.

When Shiro said that, he looked so sincere. He looked almost…Keith’s not sure. It’s too much to consider.

Shiro’s crouched in front of the fireplace, and he turns, beckoning Keith over. When he kneels on the hearth, he sees that there’s also a small pile of holly leaves on their stems next to Shiro.

“This,” Shiro says, lifting up the log towards Keith, then setting it down on the fire, “is a yule log.”

The flames are bright, and cast an orange glow on Shiro’s face the same way a sunset would. But this sunset moves, flickering and changing against his skin like the waves in a small pool. He’s so beautiful. There’s no one else like him.

“It’s an old tradition, one that’s sort of fallen out of style except for in some parts of the world. But in my family, we have one every year. They used to use huge logs, sometimes sticking the whole Christmas tree in there when they were done with it. It was meant to burn for the whole twelve days of Christmas. Then, what was left was kept to be added to the next year’s fire.”

The flames are licking the sides of the log now, catching and crawling up, using its fuel to perpetuate their energy, climbing higher. Shiro collects the holly sprigs and hands one to Keith, only letting him take it once he’s sure he’s grabbing it in a way that he won’t get pricked. 

“Don’t tell Iverson, but I snipped these from the holly bushes outside his window,” Shiro admits in a conspiratorial whisper, which knocks a laugh out of Keith, despite himself.

“Part of the tradition, in my family,” Shiro explains, “is that we throw sprigs of holly onto the yule log fire – it’s supposed to represent the burning away of the worries and pains of the old year, sort of casting away your woes, and having hope for a new beginning.”

Keith examines the sprig of holly between his fingertips. Its waxy green leaves, spiked to keep away animals that might eat them. Its perfect red berries.

He hums in acknowledgement, pulled too deep in thought to really respond. He thinks about it – thinks about burning away his worries, his fears, putting his faith and hope into the future. He thinks about what that would mean. The fire crackles and pops, like tiny fireworks.

“Keith?” Shiro prompts. He’s been lost in his head for a while.

Keith looks back up at him and smiles reassuringly, and when their eyes meet, they catch and hold, holly leaves snaring on loose clothes. For the first time, Keith allows himself to really consider what would happen if he told Shiro how he feels. Allows himself to wonder if he might not be the only one. He searches Shiro’s eyes. They’re familiar, reflecting the dancing flames.

Shiro’s the first one to look away, and he turns to his spring of holly, turning it over in his hands, thinking. For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, then he opens them and tosses it into the flames. They both watch it start to burn, green leaves turning to brown, blistering and curling up on themselves.

It’s like making a wish, maybe. Keith stares down at his sprig. If he stares hard enough, maybe he can imbue it with the woe he wants to cast away. Maybe the fire will work. He thinks he might be ready.

With a breath, Keith tosses his own holly into the fire, where it lands next to Shiro’s. Next to him, Shiro stands. Keith waits a minute longer, watching them burn.

When he does stand, something’s changed; Shiro’s demeanor has shifted. He’s still watching the fire, not looking at Keith, and his stance is a little guarded, nervous – he shifts on his feet, plays with the cuffs of his sleeves. It’s not like Shiro.

“Keith,” he starts, and just from his voice Keith knows what he’s going to say. He swallows, prepares himself, but he’s not going to run. “Last night…do you remember…?”

“Yeah,” Keith responds, hoping his voice sounds steadier than it feels.

Shiro looks at him then, and Keith’s never seen his eyes so vulnerable. But he doesn’t look disgusted, or pitying. He looks afraid, and almost…hopeful?

“What did you mean?” Shiro asks. His voice is almost a whisper.

Keith can’t lie; it’s too late for that. He has to answer, but it’s still hard to force any words past his throat. He sighs and looks up to the ceiling to process, and is stopped in his tracks by what catches his eye. Right there, hanging above them tied with a ruby red ribbon, is a bundle of mistletoe. Shiro sees the look of confusion on his face, and follows his gaze. He hears a gasp, a pause, and a hiss of “ _Matt._ ” 

Their eyes make their way back to each other, and uncertainty hangs in the air. Keith still hasn’t answered Shiro’s question. Shiro, who is so good, so wonderful. Shiro who’s standing with him underneath the mistletoe.

He thinks about his holly leaves, burning in the fire, pushes himself up on his toes, and kisses him.

Keith’s imagined what it would feel like to kiss Shiro probably a thousand times, both waking and in dreams. It doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Shiro’s obviously stunned, caught off guard, but even unresponsive his lips are soft and warm. Keith’s hands land on his shoulders to keep himself steady. He presses their lips together insistently, needing to memorize what this feels like in case Shiro pushes him away and tells him that’s not what he wants. Keith’s heart is fluttering, like a bird trying desperately to escape; he wants to run, wants to fly out of here, but he won’t.

After just a couple long beats, Shiro relaxes – Keith can feel the minute shift in his jaw, they’re so close together. His lips move slightly, almost like he’s going to kiss back. Two strong arms wind their way around Keith’s waist and draw him in close and Keith has never felt joy like this moment. Shiro’s kissing him back, now, he’s _kissing him back_ , lips moving against his careful and soft, but there’s desperation in them, in the way his hands grip Keith’s back; he can tell Shiro’s trying to hold back. He doesn’t want him to, wants to know what Shiro’s feeling, wants it to flow out through his touch.

There’s a tiny, wet swipe of a tongue against his bottom lip as Shiro tilts his head, and Keith gasps against his lips because there’s never been anything better than this. Shiro takes the opportunity to slip his tongue through the gap, carefully licking behind his teeth and retreating back again. It makes Keith shudder, try to push himself closer against Shiro’s chest. He’s been kissed before, but it’s never been like this. Never felt like he could stand there for all of eternity and be perfectly happy.

Shiro’s lips taste faintly of cinnamon, probably from the cookie he ate earlier. They move skillfully, devastatingly. Shiro sucks in a breath through his nose and kisses a little harder, letting his control slip just slightly. Before Keith’s ready, Shiro pulls back, just far enough for them to pant against each other’s mouths. His eyes flicker open to find Shiro’s, who’s already looking at him in a way he’s never been looked at before, like he’s the milky way, falling snow – something magical, not just Keith.

“Shiro,” he whispers, and Shiro nods, to what, he’s not sure, but his arms leave Keith’s back so that his hands can cup his face, a cheek in each palm. He holds him so delicately his heart could break, leans back in to kiss the breath off his lips. It’s impossibly gentle, careful and thorough, honey-sweet kisses, lips coming together and parting and coming together again. He angles Keith’s head, strokes his cheekbone with his thumb. He kisses him like he could kiss away every sorrow Keith’s ever had, like he’s something precious. He kisses Keith like he loves him.

By the time Shiro gently parts them, hands sliding down to Keith’s shoulders, Keith’s been lulled into a haze, barely able to comprehend anything other than kissing Shiro. He doesn’t go far, hovers close to Keith’s face, runs the tip of his nose along the line of Keith’s. When he puts a little more distance between them, it’s just so he can look into Keith’s eyes.

“I – I didn’t think you felt the same way,” he breathes.

Keith actually lets out a little breathless laugh at that, because of how unthinkable it is for him to be anything other than completely in love with Shiro.

“Me neither,” he responds.

It doesn’t really seem possible for this to actually be happening. He removes a hand from Shiro’s shoulder and pinches his bicep, to check. Shiro laughs, and he can feel the warm puff of it on his cheeks.

He’s pulled into a hug, tight and warm, like Shiro’s hugs always are, but this one is different. This time, Keith lets himself bury his face in the crook of Shiro’s neck, bunch up the fabric of his shirt in one hand while the other goes down to wrap around his waist and make sure this hug doesn’t end before he’s ready for it. He takes a deep breath of Shiro’s scent, that familiar smell that’s always a balm to his soul. Shiro’s petting his hair, holding him just as close, like he wants this just as much. Keith’s starting to believe it’s true.

When they eventually start to pull apart, Shiro leaves a trail of quick kisses up his cheek and temple before he’ll let him go. He catches Keith’s hands as they retract and holds them easily between them. It feels so natural already, like they have a muscle memory for each other that’s just been waiting to be awoken.

“Is _this_ a normal part of the Christmas Eve tradition?” Keith teases. It makes Shiro throw his head back in a laugh, squeezing Keith’s fingers.

“You know, I can’t say that it is.”

The apartment has started smelling like the lasagna that’s nearly finished baking, and, to his embarrassment, Keith’s stomach takes that as a cue to grumble. Shiro chuckles, and dives in to give him a chaste kiss again like he just can’t help it.

“Do you want a pre-dinner snack?”

“We’re going to be eating in like…” Keith squints at the oven, “fifteen minutes.”

Shiro shrugs. “There are no rules here.”

He must pick up on the slightly longing way Keith looks at the kitchen cabinets, because he pulls him along and takes out what he knows are Keith’s favorite crackers, as well as some leftover cookies and a couple types of cheese – for options, he says. The whole time, Shiro keeps a hold of one of Keith’s hands, even though it’s a little bit of a hindrance.

“…I don’t want to let go yet,” he explains, a little sheepishly.

Keith’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He wants to jump up and kiss him, but he can’t quite get himself to – it feels a little too bold, a little too much like taking something he wants, when he needs to make sure he doesn’t make an accidental misstep and mess this all up.

The lasagna is bubbling when it comes out of the oven, golden brown cheese making Keith’s mouth water. Shiro insists on lighting some candles on the kitchen table before they sit down to eat – “Because you have to be at least a little fancy on Christmas Eve,” he says. “My aunts would clutch their pearls if I didn’t.”

Their knees bump together under the table, and they don’t bother to move them. It’s kind of surreal to just be sitting here eating dinner across from Shiro, minutes after this revelation that’s turned his world on its axis. He’s not sure how he’s so calm, how his heart isn’t racing out of his chest, but he’s still flying, still deliriously happy. He reaches out to take a sip of his water and Shiro takes his hand when he puts it back down, just holding it across the table so they both only have one hand to work with, but neither of them minds.

“This is delicious,” Keith comments. “We did a good job.”

Shiro nods, mouth full. “We make a good team,” he adds when he swallows. It makes Keith’s heart do a little leap.

When Keith is full and satisfied and everything feels warm and fuzzy and a little magical, Shiro suggests they watch one of the Christmas movies they didn’t get to on their marathon night. They clean up side by side, moving around each other easily in the kitchen, putting the leftovers away where they will surely be greatly appreciated at some point tomorrow.

Keith has a small problem, which is that now whenever Shiro says anything, or does anything, or is anywhere within an undetermined radius of him, he wants to kiss him. If he let himself, he would just be pulling Shiro down for a kiss every other moment, slowing the process down majorly. He sort of hovers near Shiro but won’t make the first move. He keeps having to bite his lip to keep himself in check, stop himself from being too demanding, because he isn’t sure what he can ask for, yet.

Shiro must notice – and of course he would – because he stops wiping off the countertop to give Keith a funny look, tilting his head, considering him.

“Keith, you know, it’s okay for you to ask for things,” he says gently, patiently. “You can kiss me when you want to, or anything else. You don’t have to wait for an invitation. You’re not going to scare me away.”

At first, Keith fidgets for a moment, cheeks growing hot, embarrassed at being so clearly seen. But Shiro’s always understood him.

“Okay,” he agrees, gives Shiro a small smile.

It takes a minute, but once the blanket permission sinks in, Keith is more than happy to take advantage of it. Once Shiro’s finished the dishes and dried his hands, Keith intercepts him and hooks a hand around the back of his neck, meeting him in a kiss. It’s a sweet one, and Shiro smiles into it and puts two hands on Keith’s waist to steady him. The kiss trails off into a few lingering pecks, and Shiro hums and strokes a hand up and down Keith’s side.

“Movie?” he suggests.

The movie presents another conundrum, because what he really wants is to be cuddled up to Shiro as close as possible while they watch, but he doesn’t feel _quite_ brave enough yet to initiate it. He at least doesn’t sit a very measured distance apart from Shiro on the couch like he used to, though, so he counts that as progress. They share a blanket, and Shiro searches for Keith’s hand between them and laces their fingers together. A little while into the movie – something strange but kind of cute about a talking cow who wants to fly that is apparently very close to Shiro’s heart – Keith is _really_ missing kissing Shiro and trying not to noticeably squirm with his frustration, but he doesn’t want to interrupt the movie…

Fuck it.

With a huff, Keith shuffles himself closer so that he’s pressed up against Shiro’s side, meanwhile lifting their joined hands and placing Shiro’s arm around his shoulder. Shiro gets the picture, laughing and tugging him closer, tucking him under his arm and into his ribs.

“Better?” He asks with a smirk that’s betrayed by the soft fondness in his eyes.

“Almost—” Keith says, then surges forward to kiss him, not letting Shiro go until he’s had his fill. When he pulls back, he’s proud to see Shiro’s eyes a little glazed. “Okay, now I’m better.”

With that, he settles in against Shiro, warm and comfortable and content. This is pretty much the exact content of innumerable dreams he’s had. He can’t believe he gets to have this.

He tries to pay at least some attention to the movie, but Shiro’s thumb is rubbing absently at his shoulder and it’s extremely distracting.

Once he gets used to it, Keith’s stealing kisses right and left, shyness melting away. Most of them are sweet, quick, so Shiro can get back to the movie. A couple of times, though, they get a little caught up in each other and have to rewind a bit. A short, sweet kiss turns into a long one when neither one can be the first to pull away. Keith’s head is tilted, practically pillowed on Shiro’s shoulder, and he feels like he could melt right into him. His lips are getting sore, even though their kisses are heartbreakingly soft and gentle, just because there have been so many of them.

In the middle of it, though, for whatever reason, something about the way Shiro’s lips move against his, the way his hand has migrated up to cup Keith’s jaw, makes his heart rate start to speed, and he starts to press a little harder, nudge their tempo a little faster. It’s like a positive feedback loop, because the change in Keith’s kisses makes Shiro respond in kind. His grip on Keith’s jaw gets just a notch firmer, he claims Keith’s lips more purposefully. That only serves to send Keith further into a spiral, and before he knows it something in the air has shifted, and he’s leaning hard into his hand bracing on Shiro’s thigh, trying to get closer somehow. The gentle prying of a thumb on his jaw gets him to open his mouth, and _this_ kind of kiss is going to be his undoing, he can tell.

Shiro’s tongue doesn’t plunder, though it feels like it could; it just explores, shallow and polite, with a promise of more. Keith’s whole body has shifted towards Shiro, now, whose other hand has found its way to the nape of his neck, cupping it in a way that both soothes and sets a fire in his spine. He realizes he’s nearly started to climb into Shiro’s lap in his efforts to get closer, but Shiro doesn’t seem to mind, still content with taking him apart with his mouth.

It’s as good as Keith thinks it can get, already, but then Shiro catches him with his jaw lowered a bit more and takes the opportunity to tilt his head for a deeper angle and suck on the tip of his tongue, just a little, still soft and devastatingly sweet.

A high-pitched noise is pulled involuntarily from Keith’s throat that doesn’t sound that it should have been able to be made by him, and he loses all capacity he had left for thought. All the registers with him is that when Shiro lets go, it feels just as good, and that the hand on his jaw is holding him back a bit now as Shiro forces their kisses to slow. That’s not what he wants, and he frowns a little, but the thumb on his cheek is smoothing over it, gentling him. Shiro eases them out of it carefully, just stepping the kisses back down until they can both catch their breath, panting against each other’s mouths.

When he’s about to open his eyes again – although they won’t seem to open all the way – he’s a little offended that Shiro stopped them, but Shiro smiles at him warmly. At least he looks flustered, too.

“Sorry, just didn’t want to get too carried away,” he explains, to which Keith scoffs. He’s more than happy to get carried away, all the way away.

“You seem tired,” Shiro observes, still holding him by the jaw and nape, fingers stroking under his hair in a way that makes him shiver. And yeah, maybe Keith’s eyelids are getting a little heavy, but the sound in the background reminds him that there’s still a movie going on that they’re supposed to be watching, and he cannot be responsible for Shiro not being able to watch his movie twice in a row.

“No, we have to finish the movie!” he insists, and from Shiro’s raised eyebrow it’s clear he doesn’t exactly believe Keith’s that invested in finding out if this little animated cow gets her wish. He acquiesces, though, and shifts them back into their earlier position, which, while it’s not as good as kissing, is still pretty great.

Once the movie’s over (and Keith hides the tear it brought to his eye), he’s creeping towards the edge of sleep, and if he’s not going to make Shiro sleep all night on the couch again, they’re going to have to pack it up soon. He says as much to Shiro as he turns off the TV.

“Yeah, me too,” Shiro replies, punctuated by a yawn. “You brought pajamas, right?”

Keith nods.

Shiro hums happily and stands, taking Keith’s hand and pulling him up as he does so. Now they’re walking to Shiro’s bedroom, and Keith’s a little confused, because – Oh.

In Shiro’s bedroom, Keith looks between the bed and Shiro uncertainly, blinking.

“Oh. Uh - I assumed you’d want to just sleep here, with me,” Shiro explains when he notices. “Just because it’s more comfortable! And since, uhh…we can, um, cuddle…shit, I’m an idiot; I totally understand if you’d be more comfortable on the couch—”

Keith rolls his eyes as Shiro spirals, crossing the room to take his face in his hands and kiss him firmly, putting a stop to his floundering.

“Shiro. Obviously I want to sleep in bed with you. I was just surprised. I didn’t – I didn’t think you’d want me to.” His voice trails off at the end.

Shiro’s face softens and he wraps his arms around Keith, showing him that he doesn’t want him going anywhere. “I do want you to. Of course. I want you with me always.”

“Oh,” Keith whispers. He still doubts himself, and he knows not to expect it to go away overnight. But Shiro understands.

Once all the tooth-brushing and face-washing and changing into pajamas is done, Keith hesitates at the far end of the bed as Shiro gets in under the covers. It’s just a lot; something he’s wanted desperately for years is now right in front of him, lifting the covers back and beckoning him in. When he does slip under the covers, it’s warm and soft like sleeping on a fluffy cloud, something he wasn’t able to appreciate when he woke up hungover there – Shiro is a soft mattress guy, apparently, which is a fact Keith puts away in his Shiro file. In his bed, his heady scent is almost overwhelming, surrounding him everywhere. He’s instantly at ease, sinking into the mattress. He’s hoping there will be cuddling, but it’s a bit too much for him to initiate himself, at least right now when he’s tired and exhausted from a day of revelations and firsts.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though – after he turns out the light, Shiro reaches out with a grin and pulls Keith in and onto his chest, where he settles in and finds himself extremely comfortable. This might be his new favorite place to be, Keith manages to think before he slips into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at my university, we had a tradition every holiday season during final exams where we all gathered in the center of campus for a celebration and time of reflection that ended in a yule log ceremony. From my research about the history of yule logs, I don't think this is a thing elsewhere, but part of our tradition was that we would throw holly sprigs into the fire to symbolically burn away the cares and worries of the year and usher in a new one with shared hope for the future. I've always thought it was a nice tradition, but I think it's especially appropriate this year, so I wanted to share :) Here's hoping next year is better and brighter for all of you!


	13. Christmas Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!! Can't believe we're there. As a present, here's the longest chapter :) 
> 
> The explicit scene here goes from about "Shiro..." near the beginning of the chapter to "Yeah, we're going to be doing that a lot" if anyone wants to skip it.

Sleep lifts from Shiro softly, kindly. The whole universe is being rather kind to him, this morning. Any other year, maybe he’d chalk it up to the magic of Christmas – but this year he knows it’s all Keith.

The first waking breath he takes is full of the scent of Keith, his nose buried in sleep-tousled black hair, and he breaths in deep.

Keith’s back is to his chest, and he has an arm tucked around his waist. He can feel the gentle rise and fall of Keith’s stomach as he breathes, and it nearly lulls him back to sleep. Sleeping curled up around Keith is incredibly comfortable, but he should have known it would be.

The morning light is shining insistently in through the window, though, that soft winter light, and the few birds tough enough to brave the cold are letting him know it’s time to wake. Keith doesn’t follow nature’s rules, though, and Shiro knows he’ll be sleeping for a long time yet if left to his own devices.

Selfishly, he wants Keith back from his dreams, because as lovely as a sleeping Keith is, an awake Keith is even better.

He wakes him by laying a line of kisses over his shoulder, nuzzling in and squeezing his middle a little tighter until Keith shifts and groans softly.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers, grinning against Keith’s sleep-warm cheek. Keith smiles, even though it looks like he’s trying to fight it, and Shiro kisses the sweet apple of his cheek, the corner of his mouth. That, at least, gets Keith a little more interested in not being asleep, and he cranes his head to search out his mouth blindly, eyes still closed. With a hoarse chuckle, Shiro helps him out, bringing one hand up to tilt his jaw in the right direction with his thumb and giving him a long, slow kiss. Keith sighs into it and relaxes, shifting onto his back to ease the strain on his neck and just keep kissing, and kissing, and kissing.

Shiro doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. It still feels like he’s getting away with something, somehow, just being able to have this.

A hand winds around the back of his head, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to _that_ either. How every time Keith does anything it makes a lightning bolt travel straight down his spine. It takes close monitoring to keep himself in check, make sure he doesn’t accidentally push any further than Keith wants to go. Fingers run through his hair, curl and scratch lightly at his scalp, and _shit_ , it’s like Keith is _trying_ to sabotage his honorable efforts. A low groan rumbles out of his chest, because Shiro is weak for getting his head scratched, and he catches the responding hitch in Keith’s breath.

Somehow, Shiro’s unintentionally migrated until he’s leaning over Keith, propped on his elbow and using his free hand to angle his head. Their kisses are becoming less sleepy and more heated, edging towards dangerous territory. Keith is responsible for at least half of that fact, but still…

Shiro’s, like, 99.8% sure Keith’s never done anything like this before, which is a thought that ignites something in the deepest part of his brain, but he has absolutely no need to rush anything with him. They have a long, long time ahead of them, if he has anything to say about it.

Keith, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have any such qualms.

It’s kind of driving him insane, the way Keith keeps wriggling closer, urging Shiro to kiss him deeper, and he’s not sure how much longer he can hold on before he has to stop them. Shiro can’t help but respond, spurred on by the soft little noises he doesn’t even think Keith realizes he’s started making, but that make Shiro want to do whatever he can to draw out more of them.

He nips Keith’s lower lip, making him gasp sweetly. Shiro groans internally. Keith’s so sensitive, responds so much to the slightest things; he can’t imagine how he’ll react when they’re doing something more than simple kissing.

If Keith even wants to do that, that is. He has to remind himself. And right now, he’s losing the thread a little bit, so he takes Keith’s cheek in his hand and gently puts the brakes on, like he did last night, slowing their kisses and pulling back as much as he can stand to while stopping Keith from chasing after him. Even once he does separate them, he keeps diving back in for too-short kisses because Keith’s just so damn addictive already.

“Shiro…” Keith pants, grabbing hold of his wrist. He’s breathing heavily just from that, just from a few lazy, early-morning kisses. Shiro has to make sure his lower half is leaned far enough away from Keith that he doesn’t feel the way that makes his cock twitch. “Shiro, I – I don’t want you to stop,” Keith says, blushing.

Shiro’s trying to come up with the best way to explain to him that he really just needs at least a little time to settle down when Keith tugs on his wrist and makes a frustrated noise in his throat. He keeps opening his mouth like he wants to say something, then closing it, stopping short. “I want – _ugh_ , Iwannahavesex,” he blurts out.

Shiro blinks at him blankly. Oh. _Oh._ Keith is beet red and scowling, obviously embarrassed, which just won’t do, so Shiro strokes his face, placating.

“I want that too, obviously,” he tells him, allowing himself to punctuate it with a long, hungry look up and down Keith’s frame all laid out and panting on his bed. “But—” he wants to be careful about this, wants to make sure he doesn’t make Keith feel patronized or looked down on. “—You’ve never done anything more than what we’ve done, right?” he asks gently.

Keith shakes his head, just barely enough to be understood.

Before any totally misplaced insecurities can worm their way into Keith’s head, Shiro dives in to give him a hard, heated kiss, makes it dirty, empties just a fraction of his desire into it so Keith can be sure of how he feels.

“Believe me,” he pants when he pulls back, leaving Keith dazed, “that is the opposite of a problem. I just want to make sure…you know, that you don’t jump into anything too soon. That you really want this.”

Blinking back the stars Shiro put in his eyes, Keith frowns at him. Before Shiro knows what’s hit him, Keith has surged up and pushed him over, flipping them so he’s braced on a hand firmly planted on Shiro’s chest, staring down at him.

“Shiro. I know what I want. I’ve been imagining you taking my virginity for _years_.”

“ _Oh._ ” Shiro gulps.

“I…I never thought you’d want me,” Keith continues, voice softer now. “But now that I know you do, I – I can’t wait anymore. Just… _please_.” He lowers himself down, fire going out of him, lays himself on Shiro’s chest and looks at him like he flew through the galaxy and planted every star in its place, just for Keith. And he would.

Shiro can’t respond but with a nod; too caught up in an overwhelming mélange of desire and love and sadness that Keith ever once thought his feelings were unreturned. He’ll do whatever he has to to heal those wounds, and all the others, and if it starts with taking Keith apart on his soft white sheets in the thin light of morning, that’s no hardship whatsoever.

While words fail him, he can still touch, and he starts by running a hand down Keith’s back, splaying it wide so he can feel as much of him as possible in each stroke. His other hand takes up its new favorite position on Keith’s jaw, pulling him in for a slow kiss. Every touch has Keith relaxing noticeably, becoming heavier on Shiro’s chest as his muscles go limp and he sinks against him, like he can’t even help it. It takes almost nothing to get Keith all dazed and pliant again, eyelids heavy and breath coming shallowly.

“There you go,” he murmurs without thinking. “Good boy.”

Keith’s eyes widen and he moans, barely even being touched, and dives in to kiss Shiro harder, more insistent. Shiro makes note of that particular piece of knowledge. He’s determined to make his “what Keith likes in bed” folder as large as all the rest of the folders in his Keith file. He knows he has no one to compete against, no one to even be compared to, but that’s not going to stop him from striving to be the best. It’s what Keith deserves.

The hand on Keith’s back gets more exploratory, slipping under his soft, overworn t-shirt to get a taste of bare skin. Keith is still warm from sleep, the muscles he can feel under the skin still a bit loose and relaxed. That’s good; he wants Keith as relaxed as possible.

It’s a revelation, getting to touch Keith like this, having what seems like miles of open skin to map out when for so long he’s been living off scraps, cursory touches or occasional, treasured hugs over too many layers of clothing. He touches every inch he can get at, pressing in, feeling the give under his fingers, mapping out where it’s firmer, the peaks and valleys of his lithe muscles.

Keith seems to be feeling much the same; he’s started practically _kneading_ Shiro’s pec where his hand rests, like a cat, the other hand alternating between his shoulder and his bicep like it can’t decide which it prefers.

Once Shiro’s hand has taken its fill of Keith’s back for now, he gently disengages them and wraps his arms around Keith to flip them back over, pulling Keith’s shirt off over his head along the way and then laying him down carefully on the sheets. Keith’s reaching out to pull Shiro back already, but that same hand stops him, and he bites his lip, eyes trailing down.

“Off,” he supplies simply, tugging at Shiro’s sleep shirt. Shiro obliges, pulling it off quickly and tossing it aside, anxious to get back as close to Keith as possible. Keith, who’s looking at him like he’s never seen him shirtless before, but maybe it’s because he’s never really been allowed to _look_. There’ll be plenty of time for that later, though.

He crawls over Keith, lowering himself down carefully, covering part of Keith and boxing him in on either side of his head, but careful not to overwhelm him.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks after a few more soft kisses. Keith’s lips are swollen and wet and they’re too delectable not to take over and over.

“Mmm, I want you to fuck me, this time,” he says, with very little hesitation. He lets his legs fall open, as if to emphasize it, and _fuck, Keith is going to be the death of him_.

Shiro groans and captures his lips in a voracious kiss, licking into his open mouth and biting and sucking at his plump bottom lip.

“Alright, okay,” he pants, pulling away and gathering himself. “Don’t worry; I’ll give you what you want.” He always does, doesn’t he?

Shiro’s resolved to make this perfect for Keith, so he slows them down, focuses on giving Keith pleasure, kissing him right into oblivion. With Keith’s legs still parted, Shiro can’t help himself from smoothing a hand up and down the tempting skin of his inner thigh, so perfect and soft. He can feel Keith’s muscles twitch and jump under his touch.

To give Keith a chance to catch his breath, Shiro leaves his lips for a while and turns his attention to his neck, pressing wet kisses on the underside of his jaw, the tender space below his ear, the hollow of his throat. It occurs to him that he hasn’t kissed Keith here yet, so he takes his time to remedy that.

Keith likes this, apparently – it’s wrenching new moans out of his throat, slightly different ones. He really never would have guessed Keith would be noisy. He counts his lucky stars that he is.

“Ugh, _Shiro_ ,” Keith groans, clawing at his shoulders. “C’mon, I – _ah_ , stop distracting me. This is not getting to the point.”

“Hey, I know,” Shiro soothes. “I’ll give you what you need, I promise. You just have to trust me, okay? We’re going to do this right.”

Keith doesn’t look entirely appeased but he sighs and nods, biting his lip. He’s still breathing heavily, reacting to Shiro’s every touch. Poor thing must be pretty worked up. Shiro understands Keith’s desperation, the feeling that he can’t wait any longer – he feels a good helping of that himself. But to do this right, Keith needs to be patient, needs to be relaxed and prepared and eased into it. Shiro compromises with himself. His moves are pointed, targeted towards leading them steadily forward, like he promised. He can take his leisurely detours at another time.

First, Shiro shifts over Keith, settling himself between his thighs and covering him completely, still careful not to put too much weight on him. He can feel that Keith’s rock hard, knows Keith can feel him too, confirmed by the quiet gasp and the curious buck of his hips, like he’s checking to make sure of what he feels. Keith’s hands fly to his sides, running up and down, exploring. He shivers when Keith’s fingertips skip over his ribs, hopes Keith doesn’t venture to his nipples yet because that will _really_ throw him off course.

Speaking of that – he’s already gotten distracted by Keith again; he has to force himself to push away and sit back so he can work on sliding Keith’s sleep pants down his thighs, just taking his boxers down along with them, because that’s where they’re headed, anyway. Keith’s never really been shy or embarrassed about his body, which is a good thing in this moment because Shiro _stares_ as his cock is revealed, hard and leaking and slapping on his stomach. It’s possible he actually licks his lips, if the half-scandalized, half-moaning choke Keith lets out is any indication. _Later, Shiro_.

“Oh, look at you,” he praises, running his hands over strong thighs, letting his thumbs trace the sensitive crease at the top of them. It makes Keith shiver.

“Shiro,” he whines.

“Okay, okay.” Reluctantly, Shiro moves off the bed to pull Keith’s pants the rest of the way off his legs, leaving him completely bare, before removing his own. He has to take a moment to take in the sight – a flushed, puffy-lipped, completely naked Keith, splayed waiting and wanting on his bed.

“ _Shit, Shiro_ ,” Keith whispers at the sight of his cock, heavy and full.

“Having second thoughts?” he teases with a chuckle as he stalks back in between Keith’s thighs, which spread a little wider for him automatically.

“Hell fucking no,” Keith growls, and pulls him down into a searing kiss.

It triggers something in Shiro when Keith takes what he wants, bites Shiro’s lip and beckons Shiro’s tongue into his mouth, jaw wide, wanting to be ruined. He wants to make Keith his, irreversibly, make sure he never has thoughts of anyone else.

But first, he has to get Keith back into the right space, get him relaxed and blissed out and ready. He takes Keith’s cheek in hand so he can control the kiss, angles his head just so, wants to be able to kiss him deep but slow, just drawn out enough to keep Keith’s breath caught in his throat. Sweet, a little dirty, a little teasing. Meanwhile, he presses Keith into the mattress with his weight, runs his other hand all over his side, his hip and thigh. It works like a charm, and soon enough, he’s got Keith right where he wants him – nearly delirious, boneless, eyes barely able to open but trying every time Shiro pulls back to follow his face, like he’s a guiding beacon.

It’s then that Shiro carefully pulls away, just enough to quickly lean over and dig the lube out of his bedside table drawer, coming back as soon as he can to Keith’s warmth, which he already doesn’t know how he’s ever going to live without.

Keith is watching him, dazed and hungry, pupils blown.

“That’s it,” he coos, stroking Keith’s hair off his forehead, running the backs of his knuckles over his hot cheek. “Can you be good?” he asks, and Keith nods emphatically.

Shiro kisses him again, both to keep him all loose and pliant and because he just can’t really help it. He props himself on one elbow and leans to the side, so that there’s room for him to reach between Keith’s legs and nudge his thighs even farther apart, but so he’s still covering Keith as much as he can, grounding him. He uncaps the lube and spreads a generous amount on his fingers, wanting them plenty wet and slick. Just as he can hear another plaintive whine rising up in Keith’s throat, he shushes him and rubs the fingertips firmly over Keith’s hole, getting him used to the contact.

Keith moans at just that little pressure, wriggles his hips down to get closer. Shiro’s probably never going to recover from this.

The tip of his index finger pushes in, pausing at the first knuckle and wiggling it around a little, making sure he can’t sense any tenseness or discomfort from Keith, who still hasn’t seemed to have tired of being kissed. Finding nothing, he continues until Keith has swallowed up his finger entirely. He gives Keith a pleased hum in praise and strokes his hair with his other hand. He’s tight, unsurprisingly, but beautifully willing to yield to Shiro’s finger, to open up for him.

Keeping in mind his promise to move this forward, he only waits a few moments to make sure Keith’s adjusted enough before he starts moving his finger carefully, soon pumping it in and out. Keith shudders as his rhythm picks up, a hand coming up and clutching onto Shiro’s wrist where he’s got a hand buried in his hair.

“That feel good?” Shiro asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” Keith gasps, rolling his hips, it seems like on instinct. Shiro strokes a thumb over his bottom lip, pulls it down to reveal some of his teeth, then leans back in to kiss him as his finger continues its exploration. He wishes he had more hands, because it feels like he needs to be touching Keith all over right now, like two just isn’t enough.

A second finger nudges at Keith’s entrance to join the first, slowly pushing in and stretching him at the same time that Shiro strategically intensifies his kiss, licking dirtily into Keith’s mouth and melting away the moment of tenseness that comes with the intrusion. Keith is so snug and hot and soft around his fingers, and he groans at the feeling. His own cock is aching, twitching at every noise Keith makes, but it’s only at the back of his mind.

His fingers search around, crooking in slightly until Keith jerks and cries out, automatically bearing down on his fingers. Shiro smirks against his mouth, swallowing his moans. Sure now that Keith’s not in pain, his fingers get a little bolder, beginning to drag out and sink back in steadily, giving Keith friction that he can tell feels good, and intermittently focusing in on his prostate, wanting to turn him to jelly but not overwhelm him – not yet.

Keith’s stopped kissing him back, mouth slack and hanging open now but unable to put together the coordination to respond, too mesmerized by the constant pleasure. Shiro turns his attention lower instead, sucking a couple marks into Keith’s neck, because he can’t believe he hasn’t done that yet. He can feel Keith’s moans vibrate though his throat, tickling his lips. He can’t get enough of the sounds Keith makes, constantly spilling out of his open mouth; it almost feels like a game to see how many he can get, how loud – and it’s a game Shiro’s determined to win.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith pants, with a ‘please get on with it’ left unsaid – it sounded hard enough for Keith to formulate just those two syllables.

“I know; you’re doing so well,” he soothes, whispering into the hollow above Keith’s collarbone. “Just one more, okay?”

Keith hums and twists his hips, and that’s probably all the answer Shiro’s going to get at this point.

He eases in a third finger, stretching him carefully, and there’s resistance, but it gives way well with soft encouragement.

“You’re opening up so perfectly for me,” he praises, and he thinks he sees Keith’s flushed cheeks get even a shade darker. “Can’t wait to make you feel this good all the time; I’ll make sure you always feel good.” He’s babbling now, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind, just nods his head to whatever Shiro says.

It doesn’t take long before Keith’s suitably relaxed around the thick press of his fingers. He’s completely lost to it, blinking blearily and shifting his feet against the sheets, whimpering at every brush of Shiro’s fingertips against his prostate. It’s so obvious he’s never been touched like this before; he’s too sensitive, reacts to every new thing like it’s world-endingly good. Shiro swears it makes him even harder, which should be impossible.

“I think you’re ready,” he murmurs, not stopping the movement of his fingers. “How do you feel?” he asks.

He pushes himself off of Keith just enough to get a clear view of his face, takes his jaw and gently coaxes him to meet his eyes, needing a clear answer out of him. Keith looks like a dream, and he’s sure this exact image will show up in plenty of his own from now on.

With a thick swallow and a little frown, like it takes substantial effort to drag himself back enough to respond, Keith nods with certainty. “I’m ready. I want you.”

That’s enough for Shiro, so he carefully removes his fingers, unable to help himself from curling them on the way out to make Keith gasp, soothing a hand over Keith’s hip, knowing it’s hard to be empty again.

“Condom?” he asks. It’s safe to go without; he knows his own history and Keith doesn’t even have one, but he still wants to give him the option. It isn’t necessary, apparently, because Keith shakes his head vehemently and grabs Shiro’s forearm like he’s going to keep him there one way or another.

“Okay.” Shiro swipes a thumb over his cheek affectionately. Gently prying Keith’s fingers from his arm, because he’s going to need that for a moment before they continue, he sits up into a kneel so he can pour some lube in his palm and slick up his cock. He actually jumps involuntarily at the first touch – he may be more desperate for release than he realized. Once he’s satisfied that he’s set them up for everything to go smoothly, he settles back between Keith’s spread legs. Keith bucks up at the contact, rubbing his own hard cock against Shiro’s lower stomach, probably just as desperate for friction, the poor thing.

“I’m so lucky to get to have you, Keith,” he says, hoarsely honest. “In any way you’ll have me.”

Gripping Keith’s thighs, fingers putting indents in the soft-but-strong flesh, he hitches Keith’s legs up, encourages him to wrap them around his waist. Keith’s arms wind around shoulders, fingers in the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Perfect,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to Keith’s waiting lips. “Stop me for any reason,” he tells him seriously, making sure their eyes connect. There’s no nervousness in Keith’s, only desire and pleasure.

He slides his cock back and forth over Keith’s hole, catching on his rim, just teasing one last time before he shifts to take a hold of himself and guide his cock in the first press of the head inside. He keeps his eyes locked on Keith’s the whole time, because there’s no way he’s going to be missing a single moment of his expression as Shiro fills him for the first time. He knows no one else has ever gotten to see Keith like this, would never be allowed to get this close. The significance of being trusted to this extent will not go unappreciated by him.

The press in is smooth and steady and slow, and he tracks every flutter of Keith’s eyelashes, every wet gasp and high-pitched sigh.

“ _Fuck, Keith_ ,” he rumbles when he slides home, buried to the hilt with Keith tight and pulsing like a heartbeat around him.

“Shiro, Oh god,” Keith whimpers, voice trembling slightly.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks, instantly on alert, freezing, even though he wasn’t moving to begin with.

“Yeah, shit,” he pants. “It’s so – _god_ , you’re so big. Feels so good.”

It makes Shiro growl, slightly embarrassingly, just from hearing how he makes Keith feel, seeing the evidence on his face. He rolls his hips, not thrusting yet, still letting Keith adjust, but grinding into him to see how he reacts. Hands fly to his shoulders with a bruising grip and Keith moans long and low, shifting his own hips up, trying to get closer. It’s enough encouragement for Shiro to pull out about halfway and sink back in slowly, watching the way Keith’s eyes are rapidly glazing over.

“Shiro, please.”

With a low groan, Shiro captures his lips once more, and bruised and sore though they must be, Keith welcomes it, kissing back as much as he can gather himself to, letting Shiro take whatever he wants, give whatever he wants. Following Keith’s unspoken request, Shiro starts to thrust in earnest, fucking him in long, carefully measured strokes. He watches the way Keith’s eyes roll back in his head from just the first few thrusts, Shiro just brushing against his sweet spot, not even targeting it yet, and he knows this won’t last long.

Between how worked up he is from restraining himself and from Keith’s reactions, and with how sensitive Keith seems to be, and how long Shiro’s been taking him apart, he’s pretty sure they’re both climbing to their peaks quickly.

With one hand, he takes Keith by the hip, pawing at him and moving him where he wants him, adjusting the angle so that he can fuck right into his prostate. Instantly, Keith gasps and then keens, fingernails biting into Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro watches his face scrunch up in pleasure, a sight he knows he’ll never tire of.

High-pitched moans are knocked from Keith with every thrust, and he feels him clenching, feels the muscles of his abdomen tense and jump.

“You gonna come, baby?” he asks, kissing messily up and down his throat.

“Ah, uh huh,” Keith pants out in between ruined noises, hitching his legs up further around Shiro’s waist, pulling him closer desperately. Shiro fucks him a little faster, a little harder – still mindful of Keith’s inexperience, determined to give him everything he needs and wants. At this rate, though, he’s pretty sure a few well-placed thrusts will be all Keith needs to send him tumbling over the edge. He takes Keith’s earlobe into his mouth, nips it, sucks at it.

“Go ahead, come for me, Keith,” he tells him, rolling his hips just right and leaning up to watch Keith’s face as he plunges in as deep as he can get, fucking in all the way to the base and grinding, hard and dirty, right on Keith’s prostate.

Keith shakes as he comes with a loud cry, arms around Shiro’s neck constricting and thighs clenching around his waist like a vice. Shiro fucks him gently through it, just enough to prolong Keith’s orgasm as long as he can before it starts getting painful. When Keith reaches that edge, he clenches down involuntarily on Shiro’s cock, and just like that, Shiro comes, gathering Keith up in his arms and holding him against his chest, getting in a few more thrusts as he empties into him.

He absolutely would not have blamed Keith if he didn’t want Shiro’s cum making a mess out of him, leaking out of him for the next few hours, but he likes the idea that that’s what’s going to happen maybe a little bit _too_ much.

They stay wrapped in each other as they come down, gradually, and once Shiro’s started to soften he pulls out gingerly, soothing Keith’s little whimper with a sweet kiss. Soon, all the energy is going to be sapped out of his muscles, so Shiro rolls off of Keith before he crushes him, staying close enough that they’re still plastered together, of course.

He lays a hand on Keith’s chest and watches it rise and falls with Keith’s heavy breaths. He wants to talk to him, wants to ask how he is; even though he knows logically that he’s fine, he can’t help the hint of anxiety bleeding into him now that they’re finished.

“Holy shit,” Keith finally gets out between pants. He’s still staring at the ceiling, and Shiro props himself up on an elbow to look him over. His skin is flushed, cheeks and chest especially so. His lips look totally ruined – Shiro actually feels a little bad about that, winces, but somehow he doubts Keith minds too much. His eyes are still hooded, filled with stars; he’s completely blissed out. The evidence of his successful efforts fills Shiro with warm pride and possessive pleasure.

“Yeah, we’re going to be doing that a lot,” Keith states. It makes Shiro laugh, all the way from his belly, and he collapses back on the bed. He shakes his head, taking Keith’s face in hand and laying a flurry of kisses onto his cheek. Keith bats him away, but he’s smiling dopily, high on endorphins. Shiro’s sure he’s no better. Keith turns on his side and nuzzles into the crook of Shiro’s shoulder, nestles himself into Shiro’s chest and gets comfortable.

“Well, this is, uh…” Shiro clears his throat, “not how I was expecting my Christmas morning to go.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s Christmas,” Keith mumbles, muffled by Shiro’s skin. “Guess we can’t nap, then.” He sounds like he’s on the verge of sleep, actually yawns as he says it.

Shiro smiles into Keith’s hair. “You can. Rest a little longer; I’ll clean us up, then shower and get breakfast started.”

Keith hums. “You don’t have to do that alone,” he protests, but he doesn’t move a muscle, and his voice is getting quieter and quieter.

Reluctantly, Shiro extricates himself from Keith and leaves his warmth, coming back with a damp wash cloth to wipe his stomach down tenderly, coaxing his legs apart so he can clean up the insides of his thighs, which makes Keith blush anew.

“I’ll wake you up when breakfast’s ready, hm?” He asks, leaning in to kiss Keith on the forehead before he leaves. Keith nods, eyes closed, so Shiro doesn’t have to reign in any of the absolute adoration in his smile.

Shiro’s always believed in the magic of Christmas, but he never dared to dream it would bring him _this_.

Keith is, unquestionably, the best thing in his life. Ever since he first saw him, he knew there was something special behind those sharp defenses. He never could have guessed just _how_ special. Keith is like no one he’s ever known, or ever will know, and Shiro’s heart has been reaching out for him for god knows how long. Now that he has him, he’s not sure he’s ever felt this kind of happiness. He’s going to treasure him.

***

The sweet scent of cinnamon rolls is heavy in the air when Keith floats back into consciousness, eased into it by a gentle hand on his shoulder and a soothing voice in his ear. He hums, shifting, letting his brain come back on line on its own time.

The voice comes into clearer definition, and hearing it makes a smile bloom involuntarily over his whole face.

It’s Christmas morning, and the man he’s been in love with for years wants him too, and he just had unbelievably good sex. _And_ there are fresh cinnamon rolls waiting for him, apparently.

“Mmm, cinnamon rolls?” he mumbles sleepily, rubbing at his eyes before blinking up at Shiro, almost needing to squint.

“From a tube,” Shiro qualifies, chuckling. “I think we know now that baking is not my forte.”

A big hand strokes his hair away from his face, and doesn’t stop, and Keith turns into it.

“Okay, I suppose I can get up for that.” They have to actually start their Christmas, after all. This is like, Shiro’s favorite day of the year. He has to make sure it’s good.

“I’ll set the table,” Shiro says, and heads back to the kitchen.

Keith drags himself out of bed, slowly feeling more awake, but… _ow, fuck._ It’s a good thing Shiro’s left, because he winces as he stands for the first time, forgetting he would probably be a bit sore. Nothing hurt at the time, really, but Shiro’s cock is…sizeable, so he should have expected it.

Breakfast is sticky and sweet and just what Keith wants, and he smirks at the way Shiro’s eyes go wide and the tips of his ears turn pink when he moans around a bite. Shiro being attracted to him is pretty damn cute. And unbelievable. And amazing. And still kind of hard to believe, in some moments.

“Hey, it’s snowing!”

Keith follows Shiro’s excited gaze out the window, and sure enough, fat flakes are floating down, almost in slow motion, coating the ground in a perfect layer of white.

“Oh, it’s like that movie!” Keith supplies, helpfully, waving his fork around in the air. Shiro laughs, nearly tipping over backwards in his chair.

For a while, after eating, they just stand in front of the window, Shiro behind Keith, arms draped around him like they’ve always been that way, chin tucked over his shoulder. He watches the snow, picks individual snowflakes and tracks their paths to the ground, soaks in the moment.

“I think it’s time to introduce you to the final tenet of Christmas,” Shiro speaks up eventually, close to Keith’s ear.

“And what’s that?” he asks with a smirk, twisting in Shiro’s arms to look up at him.

Shiro grins. “It’s the one where I give you a present, of course.” He pecks Keith on the lips, then lets him go to dart back to his room.

While he’s gone, Keith takes the opportunity to take his own gift out of his duffle bag. He’s a little nervous, all of a sudden. He knows Shiro will like anything he gives him, because it’s from him. But he really hopes he _actually_ likes it. He’s had it for weeks, actually; saw it and bought it for him before he even knew they were going to be spending Christmas together.

When Shiro comes back in, he’s carrying a box in his arms, wrapped perfectly in red-and-black checkered paper. _Shit_ , Keith forgot about the whole wrapping part of Christmas presents.

“Merry Christmas, Keith,” Shiro says softly as he hands it over to him.

Keith feels himself blushing, but that’s apparently just going to be a permanent state with Shiro, so he might as well get used to it. This, though, this gift sitting in his hands, picked out specifically for him by someone who cares about him – this is something he most definitely is _not_ used to. He’s just sort of staring at the box, stuck, and Shiro comes up beside him and wraps an arm around his shoulder.

“The idea is to open it,” he whispers cheekily in Keith’s ear.

“Shiro…this whole thing has been a gift enough. _More_ than enough.” And it has. It still makes his head spin, that Shiro did all this for him. He will never, ever forget it.

“What’s one more, then?” Shiro points out, squeezing his shoulder.

Keith places the box down on the couch, finds an edge and rips the paper off of it. He lifts the top off of the box and pulls out the folded-up _something_ inside. When he lifts it up in front of himself, he sees that it’s a jacket – leather, red with stripes of white and yellow accents, sharp and cool and undeniably _Keith_.

“Wow, sweet,” he breathes, immediately sliding it on, adjusting it until it sits right and turning to Shiro. “How does it look?”

Shiro’s eyes darken as he looks him up and down blatantly, raising an eyebrow. “I probably shouldn’t answer that right now. But, in short – really good.”

He keeps touching it, looking down at how it lays on him. “Thank you,” he says, “this is awesome.”

“Every hotshot pilot needs a good jacket,” Shiro explains. Keith snorts, but he’s complimented.

“I – I got you something too,” Keith starts, pulling the little oblong object out of his back pocket and holding it out towards Shiro in his palm. It’s smooth and black, and Shiro takes it from him curiously.

“Here,” Keith says, taking Shiro’s hand and pulling him towards the bedroom, “I’ll show you how it works.”

In the bedroom, he draws down the shades and closes the door so it’s dark enough. He takes the object back from Shiro and sets it down on Shiro’s bed, pressing the button on the bottom so it lights up and starts to glow. Shiro moves closer, curious.

“Look up,” Keith whispers, and their heads lean back in synchrony to see the tapestry of lights that’s been projected onto the ceiling. “It’s a map of the galaxy,” he explains. “The galaxy you’re going to explore. The stars you’re going to fly in.”

Shiro’s silent for a moment, gaping, eyes darting between planets and stars that he’s already memorized. So has Keith. They’ve shared the same dreams since long before they even met each other, he knows.

“The galaxy _we’re_ going to explore,” Shiro insists, tearing his eyes away to find Keith. When they land on him, there’s a striking resolve in them. “Together. We’ll fly up there together.”

Stunned, Keith nods. There’s a tightening in his throat and a prickle of tears at the edges of his eyes. He takes the two steps needed to reach Shiro and takes his face in both his hands, kissing him firmly. He doesn’t let go until he’s ready.

The day is theirs, and they spend the rest of it basking in each other, soaking up the last of the holiday cheer before the season has passed them by.

“I think I like Christmas now,” Keith comments out of the blue, sitting on the kitchen counter and swinging his feet while Shiro heats up their leftover lasagna, and Shiro absolutely _beams_.

They start a fire in the fireplace, where the yule log still sits, plenty left to burn away. They sit on opposite ends of the couch with their toes touching, tickling each other and dissolving into laughter.

Shiro calls his aunts, and video chats with the whole family, turning the camera and showing them that Keith is with him, smiling proudly when he recaps their Christmas activities for his family. He talks to all of them; his little cousins show him their presents; his aunt takes him around the house to show him the Christmas decorations. Keith feels a little like he’s intruding, kind of has the urge to slink away, but Shiro’s pressed happily against him the whole time, keeping both of them in the frame, and resting a hand casually on his thigh, warm and reassuring.

They sit on the floor in front of the tree, all lit up and sparkling magically. They have to enjoy it as much as possible before it’s time to take it down, Shiro tells him.

“Who says we can’t just keep it up longer?” Keith asks, and Shiro looks at him with wide eyes like he’s actually never considered that before.

Shiro turns big doe eyes on him and asks him to make his hot chocolate again, after they’ve been there for a while. It makes his heart flutter, pleased that he liked it so much. He stands at the stove and stirs it slowly, almost meditatively. The snow is still falling outside.

“We might be snowed in,” Shiro observes when they have their mugs in hand, pressed side to side on the floor again.

“Hmm. Can’t say I would mind.” Keith leans against Shiro, shuffles so he can rest his head on his shoulder while they watch the snow and the tree in equal measure. He has his mug of hot chocolate cupped in both hands, warm and rich, and everything seems tinged with gold.

Shiro hums in agreement. It’s a nice idea, having a perfectly good excuse to spend the next couple of days just holed up together.

“Maybe they’ll cancel classes,” Keith hopes.

“Keith, classes don’t start for like another week,” Shiro snickers, jostling him playfully with the arm around his waist.

Keith shrugs. “Could be a lot of snow.”

After a while, something makes its way into Keith’s head, and he can’t get rid of it. It’s like an itch inside of him, a scratch in his throat. He mulls it over for a while. Everything’s gone pretty perfectly so far, he figures.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Mm?”

“I never told you what I meant, before.”

Shiro looks lost for a moment, then remembers, nodding.

“I meant I love you.”

Shiro’s lips are on his nearly before the words have even left his mouth. The kiss says all that needs to be said, but he pulls back anyway to make it perfectly clear.

“I love you too.”

It’s something different to hear it.

Shiro pulls him back into the crook of his neck, nosing into his hair and pressing a kiss on the crown of his head. Keith never thought he’d be allowed to be this happy. He snakes a hand under his sleeve and pinches himself, just one more time, just to be sure. Shiro squeezes him tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Writing and posting this made my Christmas feel a lot Christmasy-er, and I'm really glad I did. I appreciate the warm reception for my first bit of Sheith :) 
> 
> Happy holidays and happy New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I also have a brand new twitter for Sheith purposes @sweetfirewrites; come say hi! And most importantly, have a lovely day.


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